


Stohess Park

by KeroseneShowers



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, F/M, M/M, Manga Spoilers, POV First Person, Past Drug Use, Slow Build, Swearing, yuppies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-08 01:39:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1921893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeroseneShowers/pseuds/KeroseneShowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yuppies. Wannabe hippies. Hipsters in denial.  Levi is just about done with the city of Sina. That is, until a young Adonis moves up the block from his house and offers to be his handyman. Eren Jaeger. Yeah, he'll have to keep an eye on him...</p>
<p>(Neighbors AU and my piss-poor attempt at writing every hipster sub-category out there).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Let me just confirm that the city of Sina is pretty much Los Angeles in an alternate universe. This story stemmed from my other one, and a comment by Vandoren who uttered the words “Eren the handyman,” and I went with it. FYI the first chapter has no Eren, and it reads like I’m throwing every trope out there in this fic. In some ways I am, but nah… It’s just a neighbors AU. kkkkkk

Since I can remember from her barging into my life when I was a prepubescent kid, Hanji Zoe has always greeted me with questions.

“Leeevi!" Her voice rings out in the hallway of the agency’s headquarters as soon as I open the main door. How she knows it's me, and not Erwin or Mike, is something I've stopped questioning years ago. "Are you a logical thinker or an emotional one?”

“What the fuck is an emotional thinker?” I ask aloud, my voice echoing against the walls. Stupid questions. And I know exactly why she's asking. When I get to her doorway, I see her sitting at her desk, hands laced together in front of her while she gives me her trademark wide-ass smile. She's got a menacing glare to her lenses. The source of her power. Shitty four-eyed Amazon.

“Sounds like something out of a dating website quiz,” I say.  
  
“I made you a Match account,” she responds, smile unfaltering.  
  
“Oh." Of course she did. "So you still haven’t learned then.”  
  
“Come here,” she says and beckons me forward with her hand. She's not gonna let it go unless I play along, so I walk over to her desk and get it over with. “See, I’ve been thinking about our little experiment –“  
  
“ _Your_ little experiment.”  
  
“—and I think you’re not getting hits on OKC or HowAboutWe because your profile is too extensive.”  
  
“ _You_ wrote it.”  
  
“Yeah, well, I wanted to be thorough! You can’t get the essence of _Levi_ in just two sentences and a picture.”  
  
“Yeah,” I say, and tap her computer screen at a photo of myself. I’m holding a beer in my hand and look bored as fuck. Which I probably was. “That picture is three-years-old. What the hell, Hanji?”  
  
“Whatever!” she says, dismissing my comments with a fling of her hand. “No one will be able to tell. Not like you age anyway. _So_... I did some more research and I think Match is probably the best bet to finding the love of your life. I think I’m going to say ‘logical thinker…’” She trails off and continues clicking away at building my dating profile.  
  
It’s Hanji’s third time making one of these things for me in hopes I’ll use it, settle down or some shit. Crack a smile now and then.  
  
I’m not going to. She knows that too, but this keeps her busy and she can pretend she’s still got a firm hand on the quality of my life.  
  
Hanji’s always had that Mother-Hen thing going for her, guiding me and Erwin through every obstacle in our lives like she would small children at a mall. Moreso with me though, because I apparently screw up almost three times as much as Erwin-Perfect-Smith. Whatever.  
  
Both of them are the reason why I live in Sina, the shit-capital, why I’m here working under Hanji. I won't get into it now -- I save all that for my therapist -- but I had been comfortably wasting away in Rose for years. It got so bad at the end that my sleep record peaked at 33 hours, and I was eating cans of beans for days straight. But once Erwin decided to take the plunge and abandon the unpaid community theater gigs in lieu of bigger/better things, Hanji took to the opportunity and banged on my front door for two hours. _There’s nothing else here for you, Levi. Come work for me and Erwin, okay? I’ll take care of everything._  
  
Sometimes I think she should have just let me rot away. I never tell her this.  
  
I sigh and run a hand through my hair. “Where’s Erwin?”  
  
“Audition,” she casually responds. “If he gets it, he’s got a recurring role for half a season. Boxers or briefs?”  
  
“He seems like a boxers kind of guy.”  
  
“Yeah, I agree. But I think you wear briefs.”  
  
For the record, she’s completely wrong, but fuck all if I’m gonna tell her.  
  
“Don’t we have work to do?” I ask, deflecting.  
  
“Just two press releases to send. Then we’re just waiting to hear from Erwin. Want to do something tonight? I have a good feeling about this audition. Could be his break, finally.”  
  
“Tch. Yeah. Half a season? What is that, four episodes? As a pizza delivery guy?”  
  
Hanji grins. “No, silly. As the main character’s boyfriend. And I’ll have you know,” she continues, and her tone takes on a more dominant scale which means she’s about to name-drop someone. Fuck. “That Breaking Bad kid, Aaron Paul? He got a gig as a side character too until _eeeveryone_ fell in love with him, and when Erwin and I met him, he said Erwin had potential. So, there’s that. And who’s not going to love the next Chris Evans?”  
  
I expect her to run with the other name she’s just dropped, and I’d have to hear about “The time Erwin and Chris ran into each other at a premiere party, took a selfie, and hashtagged it #twins,” for the twenty-sixth time, but she miraculously saves me from that fate.  
  
Her boasts aren’t just empty stories, though. Hanji _does_ know everyone. I guess what I find irritating about her, everyone else happens to love. Not surprising since she’s the biggest extrovert I know. It’s why Erwin hired her as his agent. Hanji knows her shit. When it comes to scouting talent for our agency and schmoozing with bigwig corporates with wads of cash in their wallets, Hanji is #1. Meanwhile I just copywrite press releases for her and call it a day. I’m fucking great at it, too. Not so much with phone calls, so Hanji still takes on most of the administrative tasks, but it’s definitely not what I had seen myself doing as a career.  
  
Then again, Sina wasn’t an option until –  
  
 _There’s nothing else for you here, Levi_. Right.  
  
“I might be busy tonight,” I mumble, and point to the next question on the screen: _Would you rather know a practical skill or a fun one?_ “Practical.”  
  
Hanji clicks the option and looks back at me. “Busy? A date? Or are you staying in on a Friday like a grandpa? _Leeeevi_." That whine. "I think Mike is free too, so we can –“  
  
“Sure. A date.” With my left hand. I’ll jerk off into my toilet and then fight the bout of insomnia threatening to fuck up the remainder of my week.  
  
Hanji looks up from her Mac and gives me a hard stare. The glint is back in her eyes, but this one is different. Oh. The Scanner. I call it that because her eyes narrow for half a minute, like she’s attempting to figure out if I’m lying or not by the lines on my face. I've known her for half of my life, but I’m only half immune to it at this point.  
  
“I’m going to delete that app off your phone,” she finally says. Scan complete. I can live for another weekend.  
  
I shrug and start heading for the door because I'm over it. “Works for me,” I say.  
  
“You can’t find a healthy relationship on Tinder! Levi!”  
  
“Hey.” I turn back around before leaving. “Let me know about Erwin.”  
  
“Yeah. But Levi.” She glances back at the computer screen. “How important is religion to you?”  
  
“How important is anything to me?” I’m not sure if she hears me but I have faith in her to guess for herself.  
  
I don’t like sounding unappreciative, though it happens a lot and I end up having to swallow my words more often than I’d like. I owe both Hanji and Erwin my life, for wringing me out of the holes I’d dug for myself in the last ten years.  
  
But if I were given the chance, I’d move the fuck out of Sina and never look back.  
  
I know damn well it’s a spoiled wish, especially knowing it wasn't my choice to come here. Especially knowing that most people uproot their lives from their backwater towns for a chance to make it here. Because it’s _Sina_ , the _capital_ , big _sunshine_ city, where success abounds for anyone ruthless enough to take it.  
  
But there’s the city’s whole fucking problem. Sure, the way Sina’s advertised like it’s the land of mint and money isn’t entirely inaccurate. The sun is always out ninety percent of the year. And if a person plays their cards right, they can certainly find themselves sitting pretty and taking Instagram photos with Captain America at a swanky restaurant over by Trost.  
  
But it’s the hunger for that casual luxury that blinds people in this city, morphs them into carnivorous animals that only poke their heads out into the light for a shot at some disillusioned glory. Behind all that hope, Sina is just a cesspool of assholes, of shit-eating grins and back-scratching peasants, and it took me less than a year living here to figure that out.  
  
But I put up with it my first year here. Then again, I spent most of my months back then tapering off the Benzos, so being able to just _feel_ again eclipsed all frustrations I might have had with the pretentious nobodies in the city. Second year was okay. But then the third, fourth, fifth year passed and I became jaded as all fuck. Carbon copies everywhere. Everyone – aside from Erwin, Hanji, and Mike – is a caricature; jackasses with a huge sense of entitlement.  
  
It’s all fucking stupid. No one is entitled to anything, and that isn’t something I just learned in my five years of living here. At this point I’ve had nearly a decades’ worth of life lessons beaten down on me to know that.  
  
Absolutely _no one_ , is entitled to anything.  
  
The rest of the day is lax and I finish the press releases in under two hours. Hanji emails me the link to my profile and I skim over it, responding back to the thread with my suggestions. I may not use it, but that’s not gonna stop her from logging in and courting people over the Internet for me.  
  
She texts me soon afterward.  
  
 **[Hanji]** _Erwin got callback! Down to him and some other dude, next audition tomorrow. Drinks tonite. cancel ur date_  
  
I respond during my lunch break and tell her how annoying it is switching from communication methods.  


* * *

  
If Sina is a toilet full of shit, Stohess Park holds the turds that sink to the bottom.  
  
Since Hanji and Erwin dragged me to Sina without any warning, I had only a couple hundred bucks to my name. Not exactly ideal for someone moving to a new place, but they persuaded me to let them spot me for cash until I started working. Still, their apartments were on the Westside, in the Trost district, where rent costs more than all my limbs. And though I liked blaming them for putting me in such a shitty position, I still felt wrong asking for the privilege of a Trost neighborhood.  
  
So I moved to Stohess Park. Five years ago it was sketchy as all hell, but a one-bedroom shack was a steal compared to anything else in the city. There was some occasional helicopter activity around the neighborhood, some drama involving the homeless sometimes, but the families on my block kept to themselves. I’d been worse off before so for what it was, I really liked it.  
  
But along the years, gentrification became rampant, and I watched the Ramirez’s, the Nguyens, the Lopez’s, and Browns all move away, replaced by pretentious yuppies still living on daddy’s paycheck, feigning independence and “free love” attitudes. Within a matter of three years, I had to start putting up with shit like the Rose Garden, discarded 40z bottles along the curb gutters, and Jean fucking Kirstein.  
  
By no means is Kirstein the worst in the neighborhood (that award goes to Queen Yuppie Ackerman), but he’s been my neighbor for a year and a half now and thinks we’re chummy because when he discovered the Rose Garden, he called it Hippie House and I made the stupid mistake of laughing. _Very funny, Jean. Hippie House. Hah. That’s funny_. Except now every other day, I catch him on his porch and he calls me over to tell me about some inane shit I could give a fuck about. Like his day.  
  
I don’t even think he has a job. He hates this neighborhood as much as I do (except for, shocker, Queen Yuppie Ackerman), but his place looks bigger than mine and he’s barely 24 from what I can remember. So I’m sure his ass isn’t paying for it just by working out on his porch. Kirstein is a yuppie in greaser’s clothing, masking his indie vibe with gel, bleached hair and a sneer with half-assed conviction.  
  
He’s there today, hair slicked back and feet propped up on his porch’s banister, looking like a James Dean reject in a white muscle shirt and dark blue jeans. Wait... Is he wearing black loafers? I mean, what the fuck is he doing. When I get to the rock-laden path that leads to my own porch, his legs curl back and he gets up from his seat to wave.  
  
“Yo, Levi!” He jogs the steps off his porch and to my side of his fence. It’s only three feet tall, beating the small hedges in my yard by a couple of inches.  
  
“Jean.” The fact that he moves off his porch means he’s gonna give me a fucking doozy of a story today. No choice but to walk over to him. This shit better take three minutes, tops.  
  
Jean cracks his neck and stretches his arms above him. “Nice Friday weather, huh? In the 80s. Feels great.”  
  
Fuck, Kirstein. Really?  
  
I turn my head around, lazily regarding our surroundings. “Yeah. Nice.”  
  
“Yeah, spent most of my day lounging.” He swipes a hand over his hair. “Too nice of a day to do much, you know? The weekend is starting. Bet Ymir’s will be packed tonight.”  
  
“Usually is.” Hurry up, Kirstein….  
  
“Hey, so, this weird guy came down to our block today.” There it is. But if my interest level was at 2 before, it barely rises to a 3. Weird people always pass by Stohess.  
  
“What kind of weird?” I ask. “Homeless? Drunk? Preachy?” My guess was on the third option. Not exactly Jehova’s Witness preachy. More like, _hey, local Pilates class is starting, you should come out_. Ugh. The only reason I haven’t moved out of the neighborhood yet is because it’s walking distance to my favorite bar, and I actually liked the girl from Rose Garden with the baked potatoes.  
  
“Nah, he was just…” Jean puts his hand on his hip and shifts his weight. He looks out onto his yard; the grass is neatly trimmed as usual. “He came by and introduced himself. I think he said his name was Aaron. Asked me if I needed anything fixed, or if my garden needed weed-pulling or watering.”  
  
“Oh.” My interest level is still at a 3. “Okay.”  
  
“He was real young, though.” Another swipe at his hair. Jean Kirstein really loves his hair. I wonder how much he spends on it at Floyd's. “You should have seen him, Levi. Real babyface. I don’t think he could fix anything to save his life, I mean... total innocence.” He pauses. “Probably just another hippie.”  
  
“Sounds like it,” I say. “What’d you say to him?”  
  
“I said no, of course. Rubbed me the wrong way from the start. He looked over to your place, probably to come knock on your door but I told him you were at work.”  
  
Jean’s face looks expectant, probably wanting some sort of praise for the good deed he thinks he’s done. Fine.  
  
“Thanks,” I say. The word is hollow. I don’t think he notices. “For, uh… taking care of him.”  
  
“Hey, no problem, Levi.” He smiles with teeth. “Seriously, you would have hated him. Got a weird vibe from him. And if he’s a neighbor, then _we_ gotta stick together, right?” He leans over the fence and lands a playful punch on my shoulder. I give it a sideways glance.  
  
“Right.”

“I’m thinking I’ll go to Ymir’s in a couple of hours. Wanna join?”  
  
That’s been his new thing recently, wanting to hang out and talk with me for more than ten minutes. I think seventeen minutes was his record, and that’s because I was saving a parking spot for Hanji in the front of my place, and she had lied about being five minutes away.  
  
I rub the back of my head, my fingers grazing the razor-sharp undercut that I’ve always styled my hair in, and look around again. “I’ll see if I can make it. I have some stuff to take care of.”  
  
“Well, let me know.”  
  
I wave when he does and we walk to our porches. I’m sure he stays out there, but I head inside my place and exhale when the door closes. That’s the second invitation out today, and I know Hanji will start texting me soon but fuck it. Not tonight. I only got fours of sleep last night, and I have to wake up early to see my shitty therapist in the morning… and she drains the life out of me.  
  
It’s 6 PM and I haven’t eaten in six hours. I order Thai and clean my kitchen while I wait.  
  
My phone buzzes when I’m eating. It’s Hanji.  
  
 **[Hanji]** _Did you cancel? If u drive over here u can crash at Erwin’s so u don’t have to worry about driving back._  
  
I wipe my hands with a napkin and respond.  
  
 **[Levi]** _Couldn’t cancel. See you Sunday._  
  
 **[Hanji]** _UGH_  
  
 **[Hanji]** _I don’t believe u. Or this person sucks. Dump them. What’s their name anyway? If u don’t respond within the next minute I’m picking u up_  
  
I text her the first name that surfaces in my thoughts.  
  
 **[Levi]** _Erin._  
  
 **[Hanji]** _oo okay. what does she look like?_  
  
I drop my phone and continue eating.  
  
Erwin calls an hour later but it's harder to say no to him, which is why I don’t bother answering. I send him a congratulatory text instead, and I get a “thanks” back. Hanji sends another text after his, asking how my date is. An hour later, she blasts my phone with six Snaps on Snapchat but my left hand is too busy pumping myself in front of a toilet to respond.  
  
It takes me two cups of tea and hours of tossing and turning before I fall asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Therapists and kale chips. Also, meet Aaron. 
> 
> Alternate summary: ["WEST COAST" BY LANA DEL REY PLAYS LOUDLY IN BACKGROUND]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *points to tags* Yeeeee

As usual, I get to my therapist's office 15 minutes early, and the time is spent picking imaginary lint off my blazer and looking through a dated issue of _Wired_ magazine. At least Christa is only one month behind on her subscription, and her waiting room is decorated with posters of basketball players. Lebron James and Dwight Howard. None of the pseudo-motivational "LIVE YOUR LIFE" bullshit I've seen in other offices.

Of course Christa isn't my first. She's fourth in a list of shrinks I've seen over the years in Sina. It'd been part of my deal with Hanji about the relocation: Get clean, get help, get better. My first therapist was a saint in those regards; got me through months of tapering, prescribed me the right doses of Benzos, and gave me her private number to call when the withdrawal-induced anxiety reduced me to sweats and a fever. She got me through some of the roughest shit in my life, but the recovery was so daunting on her that she had finally opted out by the time I had gotten sober. Said something like, _now that you're sober, you'll need a different therapist. Someone with more experience with this kind of trauma. I'm sorry, Levi. You know how it is.  
_  
I felt so rejected that I nearly started up on the Xanax again to spite her, but Hanji wasn't having any of that shit. So Hanji found another one for me, allegedly a shrink for some A-list industry people out in Trost. Did I believe her? I didn't at first, but when I told the new woman why I was in need of therapy, she scoffed. _Oh, just Xanax and Valium? Honey, that's not a big deal. We're in Sina. That's_ everyone's _problem. Tell me something that'll surprise me._  
  
I dropped her after two months and told Hanji I'd find my own help.  
  
The third guy was good. I opened up to him about things other than the addiction and the reasons that led up to it. I even mentioned the resentment I still harbored for my first therapist. During one session, he asked if I had been sexually attracted to her and I stormed out. The next week, he told me I had severe trust issues and lectured me on something called transference.  
  
Despite it all, I didn't hate him and found myself a little disappointed when he was moving to another city. But he suggested my fourth shrink, a graduate student then who was working on her Masters degree. _A little bit younger than you, but given your personality and history, as well as her emphasis, I think it'd be a suitable match._  
  
Enter Christa Lenz.  
  
I've been with her for about a year now, which I guess is a good thing, even though I like thinking I've matured enough to stop paying people to listen to my problems. Typical Sina shit. In our first session, I sat down and listed it all with a count on my fingers. _Childhood. Death. Guilt. Heartbreak. Addiction. Trust issues. Therapist crushes._  
  
Her eyes had lit up in shock and her face paled, but it took only seconds for her to compose herself and smile. _Let's take it one step at a time, okay?_  
  
"Levi?"  
  
Her soft voice breaks my concentration from an article about virtual reality. My eyes flick up to see Christa in front of her doorway, gesturing for me to head into her main office. She's wearing a sleeveless floral-print blouse with a navy pencil skirt and black flats. She dresses like an intern. But this girl's got degrees and it annoys me because she's so modest about it.  
  
I get up from the waiting room couch to make my way to the one in her office.  
  
"Two weeks! It's been so long, Levi." She says that in the beginning of every session. I shrug and take a seat. She takes her seat opposite mine and smiles. The next minute is standard protocol.  
  
"I have to ask, Levi. It's mandatory."  
  
"Go ahead."  
  
"Have you relapsed?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Have any thoughts of relapsing occurred in the past two weeks? Any cravings?"  
  
"A few."  
  
"On a scale of 1-10, how strong have they been?"  
  
"Four."  
  
"Four, hmmm..." She crosses her legs. She's wearing panty-hose and I can hear the faint scratchy noise of her legs rubbing together. "Your answer is usually a three or two."  
  
"I've had trouble sleeping the past couple of nights."  
  
"Oh no, the insomnia? Mmmm." There. _That's_ what stops me from liking her. When I give her something private like that, she has the tendency to chew on her bottom lip in an attempt to give me a sympathetic look. Then she tilts her head and thinks silently on whatever it is I've said. Fucking annoying. Stop judging me, Christa Lenz. Your puppy-dog face just makes me feel like steaming dog-shit.  
  
"How many hours did you get last night?" she asks. Her head is still tilted. Pitying me.  
  
"Four. Could be worse," I grunt.  
  
"Good!" she says with a little too much enthusiasm. She recoils, tucks a blonde strand behind her ear. "No... that... that's good! You're thinking positively. At least for your standards."  
  
I cross my arms and sulk. Therapy reverts me back to adolescence, and that's why I enjoy the next part of our session.  
  
Christa clears her throat and offers up a warm smile. "Okay then. Now that's out of the way, Levi. How've you been? What have you been up to in the past two weeks?"  
  
"I fucked an Uber driver last Saturday." Lame. She doesn't even flinch. I used to be so good at riling her up. Maybe I should find a new therapist.  
  
Or quit this shit altogether.  
  
"Oh, okay," Christa says, and uncrosses her legs. "So that's the fifth person in the last four months, is that right? Am I missing someone? How did you meet? Well." She looks up at the ceiling like she's searching for an answer there. "If he or she was an Uber driver --"  
  
"He."  
  
"Okay. Then he was giving you a lift. Am I correct?"  
  
It wasn't that exciting. His Tinder profile had mentioned he worked part-time as an Uber driver. He stopped by my place when his shift ended. 11 PM. Left in the morning. I just hope I never get him assigned to me next time I need a ride home.  
  
But anyway. Back to trying to make Christa feel uncomfortable. I shoot my best glare at her and give an exasperated sigh. "It sounds like there's a little judgment on your part. Am _I_ correct?"  
  
A couple months ago, her mouth would have dropped and a string of apologies would come flying from her lips to pacify my "overly offended" state. Now? Nothing. Another tilt of her head. A smile. Christa Lenz has evolved.  
  
"Of course not, Levi. I'm not here to judge. I'm here to listen. But if you found anything I said offensive, I was only repeating things that you've told me about your life. Yes?"  
  
I want to wipe that questionably sincere smile off her face. "The fifth person in four months," I tell her slowly. "Yes."  
  
"How do you feel about that?"  
  
"I think you're trying to make me feel guilty about it." I mimic her. "Yes?"  
  
"Wrong," she says. She leans back into her chair, still so careful to keep her legs tightly closed. She flips her hair though it naturally falls back to where it was before she moved it. "Levi," she starts. Her voice is so fucking mousey. God. "There's absolutely nothing wrong with being promiscuous. You said Hanji has a problem with it though?"  
  
"Yes," I say. My gaze flicks to a poster of Kobe Bryant on the wall, next to her bookcase. Apparently no one's told Christa that his career's been over for years now. Well. Figuratively.  
  
"Well, sexual freedom is only just being embraced. I actually... think Tinder's a great thing. It skips a lot of the awkward tension," she says.  
  
I look back at her. "Have _you_ ever used it?"  
  
"The concern with _you_ , however," she continues without missing a beat. "Is that, given your history with addiction... You know. It might be best to... touch on that. And the sex."  
  
I try and relax as best I can on the long couch. I stretch one arm out, extending it across the couch's frame and start rubbing my undercut with my other hand. "I thought addiction isn't supposed to define me," I say. It's hard not to sound aggravated about it.  
  
"You're right. But that doesn't mean we should avoid um... You know. Triggers. Warning signs."  
  
I sigh.  
  
Then I look at the clock up on the wall, behind her. 50 more minutes. Great.  
  
Christa clears her throat. "So. What else would you like to discuss?"

 

* * *

  
Every time I come out of therapy, I feel like 100% premium Sina bullshit. Maybe it's the fact that Christa's office is in Trost, right by the beach. Maybe it's Christa herself, and the words she feeds me to ensure I end up leaving her office feeling three inches shorter. But every two weeks after our hour is up and I walk back out into the parking lot, I feel like the biggest douchebag in the city.  
  
What's even worse about this - and don't tell anyone because Hanji and Erwin would never let me live it down - is that I actually play the role up until I get home. When I get inside my Prius, I put on my Ray Bans, blast the radio to whatever top 40s hit is on, and fucking _drive_.  
  
This is the only Sina activity I give in to. Scenic routes along the coast are made for this shit. Blazers and $110 Ray Bans are made for this shit. Cigarettes too, but I don't smoke, so instead I roll down my window and let the wind graze my hair. The roar of the highway laps around my ears and the radio's churning out a singer that surprisingly isn't using auto-tune on her voice. I'm all smiles. Everyone tells me I need to lighten up. If they only knew about this.  
  
I turn the stereo down when I'm a couple blocks away from home. You can get away with cruising through Trost, but Stohess is a different flavor. Lana Del Rey on max volume will grant you suspicious judgmental looks from people on the streets. Particularly cyclists. Whatever. Go buy a fucking car.  
  
It's not until I park that I remember I ran out of milk last night, but my neighborhood's corner store is one block away. Convenience. Seriously. It's why I'll probably never leave Stohess Park.  
  
Erwin calls me when I'm at the store.  
  
"Did you get it?" I ask as soon as I pick up the phone call.

_"I did."_  
  
"Congratulations," I say while opening the store's freezer that harbors the milk and juice. Soy, almond, rice. Fuck, even the whole milk is advertised as organic. How does that even... Ugh. I won't get into it. I grab a carton of whole milk and close the door. "Hanji told me this role is supposed to be a big deal for you," I continue. "How was last night anyway?"  
  
 _"Nothing too crazy. Hanji called it a night semi-early. Moblit was off at midnight."_  
  
"Oh," I say, not even trying to hide the lilt in my voice. She wants to lecture me on _my_ sexual activities? Please. One-night stands beat a regular booty call any day of the week.  
  
 _"Yeah. I know,"_ Erwin says with a sigh. _"We need to confront her about that. She left me and Mike alone with a 12-pack ofNew Castle. It's just not like her."_  
  
"Big dick, most likely," I suggest, walking down an aisle. No one else is in the store, save for the cashier. But Marco's polite enough to tune out my obscene phone conversations by now.  
  
 _"What? Moblit? I can't picture it. He's... You know."_  
  
"Yeah. Or maybe he's into kinky shit. Hanji is, right?" I hold my phone in between my shoulder and cheek while I grab a family-size bag of Lays potato chips.  
  
 _"I don't want to think about it."_  
  
"Me either."  
  
 _"So how've you been? Missed you around the office this week."_  
  
I have a quick internal debate about buying dip to go with the Lays. No. I'll pass.  
  
"Christa thinks I'm addicted to sex," I answer.  
  
 _"Who isn't?"_ Erwin answers automatically.  
  
Some days, Erwin gets on all of my fucking nerves. Other days, I just want to marry him and grow old together.  
  
I head to the register with my milk and chips. Marco perks up when we make eye contact. Freckly college kid that also lives in Rose Garden... Or The Hippie House. Whatever. Out of all of them, he seems like the most normal, but I also don't know much about him except that he's got a part-time job working at the store.  
  
"Tell that to Christa. Please. She seemed dead set on that diagnosis," I respond back to Erwin. "Hold on, I'm paying." I set my stuff down and readjust the phone trapped between my neck. Marco gets to scanning.  
  
 _"Where are you?"_  
  
"Corner store." Marco scans the milk and puts it in a paper bag.  
  
 _"Oh,"_ Erwin answers. Marco hesitates when he grabs my bag of chips next. He looks like he's thinking about something.  
  
"Hey Levi," he says, flashing another friendly grin at me. "You know, kale chips are half off this weekend."  
  
"Okay," I say. I didn't ask though.  
  
"Have you... ever had baked kale chips?"  
  
"No." Great. This conversation is going to get stupid.  
  
"Oh, well they're really good," he responds enthusiastically. Another smile. "Really crunchy, like any other potato chip, but definitely a lot healthier. A lot less calories too, not to mention how it's practically loaded with Vitamin A. It won't raise your cholesterol and--"  
  
"It's okay, I'll pass," I say. Meanwhile Erwin chuckles into my ear.  
  
"Oh... But, really, kale chips are so good for you! I think it's also got Vitamin C --"  
  
"I'll pass," I repeat, a little louder.  
  
"And I know Lays say they don't have trans fat, but really, the potatoes that the company uses are all genetically modified, so kale's the way to go for snacks--"  
  
"I don't need kale chips."  
  
"Or you can make them yourself! Sasha - you know Sasha, right? She makes them once in a while, and it seems pretty easy. You'll need olive oil, but --"  
  
" _Marco_. I don't, _fucking_ , need, kale chips," I end up growling. Marco immediately backs off, frowns and looks down at the counter.  
  
I'd feel bad, but fuck him and his shitty suggestions.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Levi, right, sorry. I'm sorry. Yeah. Here," he says, quickly scanning my Lays and pointing to the price. $8.65. I fish a $10 bill from my wallet and don't even wait for my change, shoving the chips into the paper bag with my milk and walking out of the store. The doors' bells on top of the doorway mark my exit.  
  
 _"Levi?"_  
  
"What?" I say, still fucking annoyed at Marco.  
  
 _"He was right, you know,"_ Erwin says. _"About kale chips. They're not so bad. Especially with dip. They're actually really good."_  
  
"Fuck you," I say, while walking back to my place.  
  
 _"Lighten up, Levi."_  
  
"No," I say. My adolescent petulance is back. I exhale and try to calm down. "Stohess is getting more and more annoying each day. Every person here is a loser. Kale chips? Really?"  
  
 _"Move to the Westside. Trost is great."_  
  
"Trost is another monster. Erwin, let me call you back." I'm tired of juggling the paper bag in my hands and my iPhone. Plus, I'm at my place. Might relax inside, Kirstein-style, with a beer or two. "Congratulations again."  
  
 _"Thanks. I'll tell you more about it tomorrow. My place?"_  
  
"Yeah. I'll see you then."  
  
He hangs up and I somehow manage to stuff my phone in my pocket with a normal amount of grace. Opening the small gate to my yard is easy too. Time to finally unwind. I take a couple steps inside.  
  
"Excuse me!"  
  
Someone yells from behind me. For a split-second, I think it's Marco, come to chase me down to apologize or to give me the change I couldn't be bothered with. Because he's done that once, sort of. I forgot a packet of bread because I was in a rush. He might have been pushing me to eat healthier back then too.  
  
I turn around. It's not Marco.  
  
Ha.  
  
Believe it or not, the first thing I notice that pulls my attention with a sharp hook, is how plain the guy's outfit is. Loose grey t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Converse. Nothing too special, which sticks out like a sore thumb in this neighborhood because everyone's got an accessory here. Beanies. Bicycles. Platform shoes. Fuck, even _I'm_ wearing a blazer and I'm far from being comparable to the hipster maniacs in Stohess.  
  
Yet Plain Joe in front of me looks _good_ , looks so _innocent_ and doll-like with the way his hands are clamped tightly on the top of my yard's gate. It's his eyes, too. I'm too far to tell, but I know they're brightly colored, wide-eyed and -  
  
Fuck, this guy is attractive. Everything just starts clicking together then. His hair, his lips, his cheekbones. His forearms. Taller than me, but I can manage that.  
  
"Uh, hi," he says. I like his voice too. "I'm Eren."  
  
 _Oh_. The babyface that Kirstein told me about. He certainly sold you short yesterday...  
  
"Aaron," I hear myself repeating.  
  
"Oh. No, not Ah-ren. Eren."  
  
"Erin."  
  
"E-R-E-N." He laughs. "It's like, Turkish or whatever."  
  
I fucking hate when people correct me, but he's still oozing innocence so I'll forgive him this one time. Plus, he's attractive. _Fuck_. So attractive. I think I'm going to fuck him one day. New life goal.  
  
"So, um," he clears his throat, awkward as hell. Maybe he read my mind. "I'm new to the neighborhood. Well, the city actually."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Yeah." A nervous laugh. He rubs the back of his head. "So I'm a little in-between jobs right now. I'm just going through the neighborhood, seeing if anyone needs some chores or work done? Like maybe with gardening or changing a light bulb? Uh.. that kind of stuff?"  
  
Damn, Jean wasn't kidding. Eren's naïveté is -  
  
"LEVI!"  
  
Speak of the fucking devil. I jerk my head toward the sound and see Jean on his porch again, holding a Mickey's Grenade in his hand. Malt liquor on a Saturday afternoon. Perfect.  
  
I'm not sure if the one he's holding right now is his third of the day, or if Jean Kirstein really is the most unsubtle person in the city, but he suddenly points to Eren, frantically. He covers the side of his face with his free hand so only I'm the one that can see him mouth the words, "That's him! That's him!"  
  
I glance back at Eren, who shoots a surprisingly scathing look over at Jean. He looks intimidating for a second, but Eren quickly recovers and looks back at me. "Yeah... I was here yesterday but your neighbor told me you were working. So do you --"  
  
"LEVI!!"  
  
Kirstein, I swear to fucking Satan.  
  
It looks like Eren's had enough too. He looks back over to Jean and sighs. He rolls his eyes. "Nevermind," Eren mumbles, and he's about to walk off to try his luck at another house probably.  
  
I shift the paper bag in my hands with my milk and Lays in it for a better grip. "Wait."  
  
He'd already started walking away, so all he gives me is a sidelong glance. "Uh huh?" His mouth is partially open. It's painful. Hurts in the best way. Eren With Two E's, you're killing me.  
  
"I have some stuff you can do. Sure."  
  
He takes a step back and is in front of my gate again. "Wait, really?"  
  
"Yeah," I say. "My yard could use some work. Come back tomorrow."  
  
Eren smiles and it's... fucking sublime. I'm this close to throwing my groceries at him for self-defense. "Oh wow, that's - that's perfect. Yeah, for sure. I'll stop by tomorrow, like around this time? Thanks so much, uh... Was it... Levi?"  
  
I nod, and I think a smirk starts forming on my face. I'm disgusting. "Yeah. Levi."  
  
"Cool," Eren says, and tosses a final look over to my lame ass neighbor. He doesn't say anything but I can read it all on his face. I follow his gaze. Jean has stopped interrupting but he's still intently looking at us.  
  
"Don't worry about him. He's an asshole," I offer. "Ever since he got here."  
  
"Yeah, I kinda got that vibe. I'll see you tomorrow, Levi." He waves, turns, and jogs across the street, only checking for a half-second to see if any cars are coming on either side.  
  
I'm still holding a bag in my hands, no use in continuing to stare at whoever this Eren guy is. I start walking up to my place again, and look on over to Jean's porch because he's still watching me.  
  
"What'd I say, huh?" Jean yells.  
  
"Get your life together, Kirstein."  
  
"What?"  
  
I get my door open and promptly slam it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Levi makes small talk with Eren. Lawns are trimmed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone cares, I am now thirstyasslevi on tumblr. Also, Levi's neighbors are playing Phantogram at first. Then Dum Dum Girls. This is v important to me ok
> 
> Next update might be a little late because I'm going to SDCC this week. But next chapter, I get to introduce one of my favorite characters (aside from Jean) and asdsjdhfjfdss.

Like he says, Eren comes over around noon wearing a beanie, a loose-fitting black tank top, brown jeans, and black Vans. A backpack is slung over his right shoulder and when I briefly glance at it after opening my front door for him, he shrugs casually and gives me a smile. "I brought some clippers. You said you needed gardening stuff done, right?"

He looks just as attractive as he did yesterday despite him looking like he _does_ , in fact, belong in this neighborhood now. I still can't tell what color his eyes are even in such close proximity. But they're nice. They stand out against his tanned skin. _Smooth_ skin. Fuck this guy. Fuck this Eren and his good looks.  
  
"So... what chores do you need done exactly?" he asks. Have I been staring? I'm not entirely sure.  
  
"Right," I say slowly, with a nod. I point behind him to my front lawn, lean against the doorway, and rub the back of my neck. "This. All of it. It's a wreck."  
  
He turns to look at the unkempt grass, turns back to me, and laughs. "Yeah... I mean, I didn't want to point it out yesterday but... It, uh, could definitely use some work."  
  
Of course I'm embarrassed about it, especially with Jean's trimmed lawn next door and my solid reputation of being real anal when it comes to cleanliness on the line. But I've never been the best at yard work, and every time I've been hit with motivation to actually tend to the grass, I find empty beer bottles and granola bar wrappers on the edges of my yard the following week. It comes with being the second house on the block, right by a major street. Palms and Echo.  
  
Sometimes when Erwin and Hanji are over, and Erwin owes me a favor, he brings his portable mower and makes it look more decent than I ever could. But Erwin being indebted to me is a rare occurrence, so the condition of my grass remains inconsistent. Right now, there are patches of weeds across the front yard, and the length of the grass blades are long, thin, and bending in haphazard directions. Whatever. At least the inside of my house is kept pristine.  
  
And this will keep Eren busy for at least two hours if he's just using shears.  
  
Eren shifts the backpack on his shoulder. "Do you think I can leave this inside? Is that cool?"  
  
I back up and let him in, but he only takes a couple steps forward and sets his stuff next to the door. He bends down and opens his backpack, retrieves a pair of worn-in garden shears and a large burlap sack, takes off his beanie, and stuffs it inside his bag. He shakes his head like a dog, probably to tame his hat-ridden hair though it does nothing for him. Not that his hair had looked bad before.   
  
He takes the clippers with both hands and snaps them open and closed twice before coming back up from his stance. "Cool. I'll get started then," he says, and runs outside with the sack and clippers.  
  
The truth? I really want to watch Eren work.  
  
Instead, I close the door and try to distract myself.  
  
I turn on the TV for a while, putting on ESPN in hopes that a baseball game will be on, but all they're showing today is golf. I still end up watching it for a while, occasionally sneaking glances outside to look at Eren's hunched figure work on my yard. He's not really moving, and when he does, it's slow and sluggish.  
  
Golf gets boring fast, obviously. I'd eat but I finally got a good night's sleep last night, enough to get me waking up early in time to make some breakfast. I'm still full from the eggs. And getting sleep means I'm not tired for a nap. I don't think I would have chosen to nap anyway.  
  
Like I said, I keep the house clean at all times so there's nothing to dust, nothing to reorganize, no laundry to do. I end up picking a book from the bookshelf and it keeps me distracted for around 45 minutes.  
  
I think an hour's passed since Eren's started working on my yard by the time I finish a chapter.  
  
That's more than enough time.  
  
I decide to pick a page off Jean's book and lounge on my porch. So I grab two cans of PBR from my fridge and head outside.  
  
Even if Eren weren't around, I would have probably made my way out here. Sundays in Stohess are always a treat. Lively and warm with a lot of people to watch. Sunday means brunch. Sunday means bottomless mimosas at every restaurant on Echo Street, and groups of yuppies stumbling through the neighborhood sidewalks since they've got nothing better to do than get drunk before noon.   
  
On the Sundays that the blond kid from Rose Garden hosts his meditative yoga bullshit or whatever the hell it is, I see these same yuppies carrying yoga mats and bottles of Fiji Water up the hill to the large Victorian house, where he and Mikasa all live. Jean once went to that, actually. I had gone outside in the afternoon and caught him walking up the steps to his house with a yoga mat bundled up against his back.  
  
He looked distraught as all hell, like my sneer or the look of confusion on my face was translating to full-fledged disappointment. But I honestly just found it funny. He must have it _real_ bad for Mikasa if he's going up to Rose Garden and pretending to be into all the new age pretentious bullshit that she's into.  
  
I look over to his porch now, and see he's not there. I'd bet a solid 50 bucks that he's probably over there now trying to get on Mikasa's good graces. Somehow.  
  
His absence enhances this particular Sunday afternoon though. It's fucking nice out. Around 85 degrees, I'd guess. Literally nothing to complain about. Someone on the block is blasting music from their place, and it's not even annoying. I can vaguely recognize it, a band I've been hearing on the radio a lot lately.  
  
The blond kid must not have held his meditation session this week either, because across the street I see two other Rose Garden residents. I don't know their names but I've seen them around a couple times. The girl's got her usual black garb on, donning a black sunhat to go with her dark sundress, and is clutching on to who I assume is her boyfriend, her legs wobbling with every heeled step she takes. Someone clearly had too many mimosas this morning.  
  
A sudden movement grabs my attention and I see Eren standing up from his position at the corner of my yard, and he waves to them across the street. The girl's too preoccupied but the guy waves back. It makes sense for them to know each other, probably. Rose Garden looks like it could use some work. I bet Eren would find a lot of business up there.  
  
Anyway. Eren standing up reminds me of the reasons why I'm outside. I feel like a fucking Desperate Housewife, some reject Eva Longoria type, but fuck it. I pop open one of the beer cans and take a sip.  
  
Lean against my porch's banister.  
  
Stare.  
  
I'm not poetic, not in any sense whatsoever. I might have been years ago, but Benzos will leave a permanent muddled effect on anyone's brain, no matter how long their sobriety lasts.  
  
I'm also not romantic. I'm a guy that writes press releases for a job, for fuck's sake. I'm as bare and upfront as a person can get.  
  
But, shit. This Eren guy. What do they say about lust? About attraction? It's a magnetic pull.  
  
I can't begin to understand why, but everything physical about him is pressing all the right buttons for me. Lean and tan. Something boyish about him, like he's never had to go through anything traumatic in his life. I should be jealous about that but... I'm not. Because I reap the benefits of his face of innocence.  
  
When he's done greeting the couple across the street, he raises his arms and stretches. I'm entranced by his shoulders, but then I see the large dark oval of sweat on the back of his shirt, and the sheen of it that looks glazed across his skin. Not boyish at all then. Completely masculine. He doesn't shave his pits and I'm fucking okay with it.  
  
He bends down and pulls some weeds out. The music from the neighboring house is still blaring and I see him mouthing the words along with it. So nonchalant. He's concentrated on his task but he starts bopping his head to the beat. Pulls at another weed as noiseless words continue spilling from his lips. _Fall, in me... I'll let you bleed._  
  
Something vibrates close to my dick. It takes me a couple seconds to realize it's just my phone.  
  
I dig for it in my pocket and pull it out. Text message.  
  
 **[Hanji]** _U on ur way? better be on ur way._  
  
Right. Shit. Might not make it over there this week, Hanji. I hold off on my response for now.  
  
When I look back up, Eren's looking my way, scratching his head with a frazzled expression on his face. When we make eye contact, his lips quirk upward into a smile. Ah, fuck.  
  
I'll make my move now.  
  
"Ready for a break?" I call to him.  
  
I guess he was expecting that because he vigorously nods his head. He lifts up the bottom edges of his damp tank top and flaps it around to imitate a cool breeze under his shirt and walks over to my porch.  
  
"Hope you're a fan of Pabst," I say and throw the second can of PBR over to him as he's climbing up the two steps. Eren catches it with ease.  
  
He twists the can in his hand to stare at the beer logo and laughs nervously. "Uh, Levi? Sorry. But do you have like, water or anything?"  
  
I'm in the middle of a sip so I swallow it quickly to answer. "No Pabst then? I think I have a bottle of Red Stripe in the fridge but-"  
  
Eren laughs again. "No, no, thanks, really. I'm just... technically..."  
  
"Oh," I say. "Sober?" That's boring. Well. I shouldn't be talking.  
  
"Underrage?" he counters back. "I'm twenty. One more year." He hands me back the PBR can. "I don't want you getting in trouble or anything."  
  
An eerie stillness swoops in.  
  
Fuck.  
  
I mean, _shit_.  
  
"Water," I say as I swallow. My mouth is suddenly dry. "I'll go get some. Sorry." I set the beer can down, open the door, and calmly make my way to the kitchen.  
  
On the trek there, I do all the math.  
  
Twenty. 2-0. That's a twelve-year age difference because I'm 32, and he's 20. I was celebrating my 30th when he became legal. When he was 10, I was 22. When he was born, I was already 12. That's more than a decade. That's a fucking generation gap. Shit, he's probably never seen _Gargoyles_ , or _Top Gun_ , or listened to Duran Duran. Fuck, Eren is young. He's a child.  
  
Sigh. So close.  
  
I have sets of rules for different things in my life, including dating. The established rule for dating younger, for me, is no younger than eight years. From experience, anything less than that is just fucking weird. We wouldn't have anything in common, and anyone younger than 23 usually doesn't have a great job going for them. So I end up paying for them all the time. Which I've never minded, but knowing about the age gap makes me feel like a father taking his son or daughter out. Complete boner kill.  
  
Considering that Eren's made it obvious he doesn't have a job, I would have probably had to deal with that gross feeling again, had I... Well.  
  
I open my fridge to grab a Dasani water bottle, slam it shut, and plant my forehead against the door.  
  
Fucking 20-years-old. Disappointing. Eren looks like he could have been fun. Pliant, I mean. Easy to bend over and fuck. Stop it, old man. He's officially off-limits.  
  
I make my way back outside and Eren is patiently waiting for his water. His babyface is almost enraging now. I try to make as little eye contact as possible.  
  
"Thanks," Eren says. He twists the bottle cap and starts chugging his water. When he's half-way through with it, he lifts it over his head and pours it on himself, water dripping down his hair, face, and shirt. Wet mess. But he smiles at me. "Hah, sorry. It's a pretty hot day today."  
  
Kill me.  
  
I open the beer Eren had rejected. I need it. "You get used to it," I say. The crisp, opening click of the beer can is satisfying to my ears.  
  
This conversation was supposed to go differently, but I have to keep it cordial now.  
  
"How long did you say you've been in Sina?" I ask, taking a sip of beer.  
  
"Like two weeks," he says. "Do you know Shinganshina?"  
  
"Doesn't ring a bell. In the valley?" I always steer clear of the valley.  
  
"No, like... it's a really small neighborhood in the inland empire," he says. He starts toying with a wet strand of hair that's poking straight up.  
  
"Oh. Yeah, I've never heard it." I also steer clear of the inland empire. Another sip.  
  
"It's... really different out here," he says. He stands next to me by the banister. "A lot more people than in Shinganshina. And everything is really expensive."  
  
"Tch. Ridiculously expensive," I agree. "I came from Rose."  
  
"Wow, that's far," he says. He's intently staring at me, making it harder to seem off-putting and distant. I force myself to look into his eyes. What a shame. So good-looking for a kid. Have I mentioned that?

He continues. "How long did it take you to adjust?"  
  
"Around a year," I answer. "But most people adjust in half that time. Some people don't adjust at all." I break eye contact and look out into my yard. Looks about half-way trimmed. "If you can't find a job, I mean. It's getting harder out here, especially with the overpopulation. Definitely a dog-eat-dog type of city." I bring the can to my lips and swallow the malt-water down. Fuck, PBR is disgusting.  
  
Eren doesn't say anything and I realize I've probably discouraged him. Not what a recent transplant should hear about the _precious little Sina_ they've been promised. Tch. "Sorry," I offer. "I'm a natural pessimist. I'm... sure you'll find something."  
  
That time he chuckles. "No worries, man. Yeah, I'm sure I will. At least my landlord is understanding about my situation, you know? There's not too much pressure on me to immediately find a job for rent."  
  
"Huh. That's good. Most landlords I've met are assholes. Good for you."  
  
"Yeah, my friend really hooked me up," he says.  
  
We don't say anything after that. Slightly awkward. The sun is shining down on my lawn and my neighbor changes CDs, though the wafting music is still enjoyable.  
  
"I'm almost done," Eren eventually says. He tilts his head in the direction of my yard. "Well, like. In an another hour, I think."  
  
"Take your time," I calmly say. My phone vibrates in my pocket again. Just once, so it's a text message. Hanji's going to be pissed.  
  
"Okay, well," Eren says, pulling at an ear. "I'll get back to work now." He turns, jumps from the top step to the pavement in front of my house and jogs to where he'd left off.  
  
More buzzing in my pocket. It's persistent; means she's calling and I'm about to get chewed out.  
  
I quickly pull my phone out and answer. "Yeah?"  
  
 _"Where are you? Are you alive? Is there traffic?"_ Hanji asks in rapidfire succession.  
  
"I'm home."  
  
Silence.  
  
 _"Sooo..... What?"_  
  
Hanji, Erwin, Mike, and I meet up every Sunday for casual drinking. Often our schedules conflict, but we try and make sure we see each other on Sunday for the sake of our friendship. We alternate in hosting too. I should have been at Erwin's an hour and a half ago.  
  
"I can't make it," I tell her. I genuinely feel bad. I ditched them for a chance to get laid, and instead I'll be heading to bed alone and with Hanji fuming at me miles away. "I hired a gardener today."  
  
 _"Are you serious, Levi?"_ Hanji's voice takes on a shrill tone. In the background, I hear Erwin. He must have asked what I said because Hanji repeats my excuse. _"He said he's not coming because he hired a gardener."_ Erwin is saying something again. _"Yeah - no, exactly! Literally the worst excuse I've ever heard -- and we work in the industry."_ I hear a deeper voice now. Mike is chiming in. _"What? Oh my god, you're right!"_  
  
Her attention is back on me. _"Levi. Gardeners will do their job if you're there or not. Levi. Leeeevi... He's hot isn't he?"_  
  
That fucking four-eyed Amazon.  
  
I keep the phone pressed to my ear as my gaze darts over to Eren. He's in the middle of using the garden shears he brought with him. His hair is still wet from the bottle he poured on himself and it's shining under the sun. His collar bone juts out from his skin and it's hard not to keep staring.  
  
"Hanji," I say, and lick my lips. "It's painful to look at him, he's so fucking attractive."  
  
She cackles for a while. Then she abruptly stops. _"I'm so mad at you right now."_  
  
"I know."  
  
 _"Bros before hoes. Chicks before dicks. I can't believe you. It's Sunday, Levi! And you missed out on Friday!"_  
  
"Don't fucking start with that shit," I say, voice rising loud enough to get Eren to look at me. He looks concerned so I lift my free hand, roll my eyes, and flap my fingers against each other. _Talk, talk, talk._ He politely laughs and gets back to work. "Erwin told me you left at midnight. What happened then, Hanji? Yeah. Don't start with me."  
  
 _"I was at least partly there. And he told you? Ugh."_ She's most likely throwing Erwin a dirty look right now.  
  
She huffs. Says nothing for a couple seconds. Then, _"Can I at least get a picture of this guy?"_  
  
"No." Because he's 20. Yeah, she doesn't need to know that. "Besides, I think I struck out."  
  
 _"Straight?"_  
  
"Yeah."  
  
 _"Serves you right. Still, get a picture. He's apparently ditch-your-friends-hot. Name?"_  
  
 _GET OFF THE PHONE_ , I hear Erwin yell. _"In a minute,"_ Hanji yells backs.  
  
I cup my hand in front of the phone's speaker and discreetly say it. "Eren." I straighten myself up and start pacing on my porch. "Yeah, Hanji. Get off the phone."  
  
 _"Eren,"_ she says, like she's considering it. _"Didn't you just go out with an Erin on Friday? Wait. Waaaait."_  
  
"Yeah. I lied," I admit.  
  
 _"I'm so angry at you! Why would -"_  
  
 _GET OFF THE PHONE_ , Erwin yells again.  
  
 _"Fuck, fine!_ " she snarls. _"Levi, I'm pissed. I... Ugh. Bye."_  
  
All things considered, that conversation could have gone worse.  
  
I head back inside soon after. Don't feel like torturing myself today, definitely don't want to watch Eren work knowing I can't have him.  
  
That I shouldn't _want_ to still have him.  
  
I end up just lounging on my couch for the next forty minutes, Googling gardener rates so I know what to pay him, and checking my social media accounts. I go through Tinder but end up swiping left for everyone I see. Facebook is annoying. Maybe I should have gone over to Erwin's anyway.  
  
I get off the couch when Eren knocks on my door. "It's open," I say, and he shuffles in, staying close to his bag by the wall. So goddamn polite. I head to my bedroom and get his cash ready. When I come back out, he's wearing the beanie again. I notice small blades of grass are clinging to his arms and clothes. He certainly smells like he's been doing manual labor all day.  
  
I don't really mind it.  
  
I half-expect him to reject a portion of what I offer him for payment, but instead he thanks me five times, repeatedly, and stuffs the money in his jeans. He throws his bag onto his back and gets ready to leave.  
  
This Sunday didn't turn out like I had wanted it to. I can't help but take this disappointment hard. Hitting close to the chest. Eren. Eren the 20-year-old gardener.  
  
I almost... nah. Nevermind.  
  
...  
  
If anything, I'll probably still see him around the neighborhood, if he lives close by.  
  
I walk with him outside. The burlap sack he brought is sitting rigid on my lawn, filled with cut grass. "My trash cans are over there, if you needed to throw that away," I say, and point to the side of my place.  
  
"No, it's fine," he responds. "I was gonna take it with me. I think some of my roommates can make use of it."  
  
I don't question it, though his statement does leave me confused.  
  
"Thanks again for letting me work for you, Levi," he says. I nod. I stuff my hands in my pockets and so does he. Why is this awkward? Why am I awkward?  
  
We stand there in the middle of my front yard.  
  
Eren clears his throat. "Hey, Levi?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
He hesitates, removes his right hand from his pants pocket and rubs the back of his neck, eyes flicking over to my house. "I don't want to seem rude or anything. Or, um, like. Presumptuous, you know?"  
  
I'm confused again but I follow along as best I can. "Go ahead."  
  
He points a hitchhiker thumb to my house. "Have you ever thought about repainting your place? It's just... It looks like it could use a new coat of paint. Or a different color. I don't mean disrespect, I'm just--"  
  
Oh. For a second, I thought he was about to ask me... Nevermind.  
  
I allow a small smile on my face. "You want to work for me again?"  
  
He returns my smile with a larger one. "If you'll let me. This would take more than two hours though. Probably throughout the week."  
  
I examine the exterior of my house. He's right. The off-white color has peeled in some parts and attracted dirt and grime in others. Shit, man. I really haven't done the best job in taking care of this place.  
  
I look at my lawn. Erwin's done a better job at trimming it but... Eren's work isn't... _horrible_.  
  
Then I look into his expectant eyes.  
  
I really shouldn't. I should pass, call it a day, forget about Eren and his awful baby face. He's not really any use to me now that I know I can't... fuck him.  
  
But then again.  
  
I scratch my head.  
  
Fuck it. Fuck it all.  
  
"Yeah, why not," I hear myself say. "Let's paint my house this week."  
  
This time, Eren's smile is near blinding. I think I'm going to regret this.  
  
"When are you available?'


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mondays. Levi figures out a living situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late, sorry. I also feel I have to apologize for no Eren here, but I need to flesh out the verse and other important people in Levi's life. But anyway, thanks for the comments and support, bless. :''')

I accidentally jack off to thoughts of Eren, first thing Monday morning.  
  
When I start, I'm thinking about Brianna, the girl I picked up at Ymir's two months ago. 5'4, 26-years-old, sporting glittered eye-shadow and a fauxhawk carelessly held together with hair spray. Not my type at all, let me point _that_ out... but she ended up being real casual, real smart, and one of the more memorable romps I've had in the last couple of months. Anyway.  
  
She's on my mind at first, but as I head further down the masturbatory rabbit hole, fucking my hand to the memory of fucking, Eren is just... _there_. In the room with us. Tan, strong, naked. Sweaty. I try brushing him aside but gradually start having trouble remembering details. The mole on Brianna's chin. Her body. Her hooded eyes start changing, morphing into rounder, green ones.  
  
When she flat out turns into Eren, I get closer to release. So I stop fighting it. Everyone has a fantasy. So, fine. Brianna-Turned-Eren wraps his legs around me, pulls me in so I can fuck him deeper, and I quickly come into my hand.  
  
Satisfying. Yeah. The post-orgasm guilt isn't even heavy. Normally I shoot up off the bed to get rinsed immediately after, but I take my time today. Wait until my breathing's back to normal. Open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. _Fuck_ yeah.  
  
I get up five minutes after that.  
  


* * *

  
Mike is the first to greet me when I make it to the offices. He's got a cup of coffee ready for me in his hand and places it in mine.  
  
"Hanji's hungover."  
  
"How?" I ask, taking a sip of black coffee.  
  
I spot Erwin walking out of his office and toward the two of us. He looks over to Mike as he's approaching. "Did you tell him?" he mouths. Mike nods.  
  
"What did you do to her?" I ask him.  
  
"Nothing," Erwin answers. "When she hung up with you, she just announced that she had to start drinking for the both of you."  
  
"That doesn't sound right," I say. By that I mean, Hanji saying that isn't surprising. But I only have two, three beers tops when it's not a special event and I'm with them. It'd take more than that to bring her ass down.  
  
Erwin smiles while Mike laughs. "Yeah, well, she said she wanted to drink like you in your prime."  
  
"Well, shit," I say, smirking. That'll do it.  
  
Mike points a finger over to her office and lowers his voice. "You have to talk to her, Levi."  
  
"Fuck no, I don't. She's mad at me, remember?"  
  
"She's mad at _everyone_ ," Mike says. "Erwin can't do it, he's leaving soon. She completely ignored me when I got here, too. Talk to her. Something's up with her."  
  
"I tried already," Erwin mutters, and gives a glance over to her office as well. "But she ordered me to get her coffee. She's... angry today."  
  
This is half the job. Scouting and representing talent, and making sure Hanji hasn't lost her shit over something dumb and personal. Erwin and I are the ones that usually talk to her, but a lot of times I lose my patience, end up insulting her, and we don't speak for a day or two. It's fine, whatever. I'll still do my best at tending to her hangover and whatever personal problem it is that led to it, because I've got a favor to ask her today, and chances are, she won't do it for me if she's royally pissed at everyone that crosses her path.  
  
"Right now?" I ask. "You want me to talk to her right now?"  
  
"Sooner the better," Mike answers. "Good luck." He gives me a pat on the back and walks away, taking a brief glance inside her office as he passes.  
  
I turn to look up at Erwin. "First day on the set?"  
  
"Yeah," he says, hands in his pockets. "Leaving now, probably. I just wanted to stop by and check up on her, you know, make sure she's all right."  
  
I nod. Hide my face behind my coffee mug and look off to the side. "Sorry I didn't make it yesterday."  
  
"It's all right," Erwin says. "You had your own things to do."  
  
Fuck, Erwin makes me feel like a piece of shit sometimes. The asshole never realizes it either, which makes it worse. From the past, I know that once he's got a gig booked, I'll start seeing less of him. I should have been there yesterday. Big pile of perverted shit I am.  
  
The self-deprecation might be clear on my face. Or Erwin just knows me well enough at this point. He punches my shoulder, clicks with his mouth, and when I look back up at him, he's smiling. "Hey. I'll call you later."  
  
"Please," I say. "I won't be around here either. Trying to work from home this week."  
  
Erwin sharply hisses through his teeth and gives me a look of sympathy. "Yikes. Yeah. Good luck with her then." He turns back around and leaves me standing in the hallway, where I prepare for the conversation I'm about to have with Hanji. I didn't think I'd have to deal with the walking fucking headache that she often becomes today.  
  
I take a long sip of my coffee, and wait around for another minute before I start walking over to her office. Should I smile? Nah, she'll see right through it. Fuck it. Here it comes.  
  
"They're telling me you drank yourself stupid yesterday," I say as soon as I get to her doorway. I find her holding her head in her hands.  
  
"Why are you _talking_ so loud?" Hanji's question comes out muffled. Ha. I'm smiling anyway, because this is pretty funny shit. I sit down on the chair in front of her desk and cross my legs. Damn, I wish she'd look up. It's not fun being an arrogant asshole without her reaction.  
  
She moans into her hands again. I see her massaging her temples with her fingers. "Do you actually need anything? Because you can leave now, Levi."  
  
"Ouch," I say, and bring my mug to my lips. I lick them clean when I'm done drinking. "Yeah I do need something. But what about you? What's with you?"  
  
"What do you need, Levi?" Her voice gets louder.  
  
We're gonna do this the hard way, then. I clear my throat and try to look as casual as possible. "I need to work from home this entire week. I'm getting the exterior of my house painted. I'd like to be there when it's happening."  
  
"No," she sharply says, fingers still on her temples. "Okay. Leave."  
  
When I don't get up, she sighs and finally shows me her face. She has no make-up on, not that she uses an excessive amount in the first place. Her eyes are blood-shot with bags under them. Her hair is done in a ponytail but large brown strands are sticking out of it. Hanji, Hanji. How the mighty have fallen.  
  
"Want me to guess?" I ask. Because even if part of me is enjoying this... I know she's in real pain. And I know something's up. Hanji's the invincible one out of us all. Something must have pissed her off to get her drinking enough for her to be so hungover. And it wasn't just me ditching her for a guy the day before, even though I'm sure that genuinely upset her.  
  
She shakes her head and breathes out, then looks around the room like someone might be eavesdropping. "So... You know Moblit... right?"  
  
Damn. I lean forward and set my mug on her desk. "Guy you're fooling around with, yeah."  
  
"We got in a fight on Friday. And all of Saturday. Levi..." Hanji hides her face again but pops back up seconds later. Desperate look on her face. "Can you believe this? My head is killing me and I have relationship problems. I'm getting old. Switch lives with me."  
  
"Relationship?"  
  
"Holy shit, I said it! Oh my god, please don't tell Erwin. Please don't tell anyone." She lets out an ungodly moan, and sinks her head against the countertop of her desk. "I hate everything."  
  
Damn, I feel for her though. We've all got commitment issues, maybe that's why we all get along. Erwin's the most stable of us all and I'm the worst, but yeah. Neurotic band of 30-something-year-olds.   
  
Well, I don't know. Maybe they're not issues at all. I think a fear of any type of permanence is a normal human thing. Relationships. Death. Location. I've talked to Christa about this a lot, and she's partly agreed, but told me my way of thinking is probably why my last real relationship ended as catastrophically as it did.  
  
Fuck, it's too early for contemplating the human condition. I clear my throat. "So. He wants to take it further. Yeah?"  
  
Her face is still smashed against her desk but she nods. Okay. "Do you?" I ask.  
  
Her shoulders move. I think that's a shrug.  
  
"Do you like him?"  
  
She shrugs again and I roll my eyes. That could be a lie for her. I can't exactly tell, because I've only met the guy a handful of times. He seemed... all right? Not someone I'd picture for Hanji, but I never really saw Hanji with anyone. Not for the same reasons as Erwin, because he's surprisingly shy when it comes to dating, but Hanji's a fucking lioness. Our single, independent mother figure. No one can tame her, except maybe someone exactly like her. If she really needed to commit to something other than her job, she should marry another publicist. Or Bradley Cooper.  
  
Come to think of it, I don't even know what Moblit does for a living.  
  
"Well I don't know jack shit about this guy, so I can't really help."  
  
"He said he wants to be included more in my life," she says, and sits back up. "Do you hear these words coming from my mouth? Levi?"  
  
Fucking drama queen. I nod. "Invite him out with us then. Problem solved."  
  
"I might have to do that," she sighs, and props her chin on her hand, glancing at her computer screen. "I don't know. Can I have the rest of your coffee? What are you talking about, working from home? Your house is getting painted?"  
  
Damn, that was fast. Starting to sound like herself again. I grab my mug off her desk before she reaches for it. "Yeah. I want to be around and make sure it goes well."  
  
"Look at you," she says, eyes still glued to her computer. "Where is this domesticity coming from all of a sudden? Sprucing up your place... Hiring a gardener..."  
  
"It's the same guy doing it," I say. Hanji doesn't look up from her screen but I see a smile forming on her face.  
  
"Oooh. _Eren_. Maybe I'll stop by this week and -"  
  
"No. You're not," I say.  
  
She's still smiling. "Try and stop me. But, Levi, if you can't sleep with him, why'd you hire him again? Or is this some weird experiment where you try and unstraighten a straight guy? Because I'm for it. Let's do this, we'll blog about it."  
  
"No, we won't be doing that," I say. "But yeah. I really can't sleep with him. But he needs a job and I have money." I shrug. "So fuck it."  
  
"I think you're in _deniiiial_ ," Hanji sings. Then she winces and rubs her head. "Ow. No, still hungover, I can't reach those notes."  
  
"Dumbass."  
  
She finally looks back at me, and scoots her chair in closer to her desk. "Okay, you know what? Yeah, you can work from home this week. There won't be much to do anyway, since I'm trying to sign this new band for our agency. I've got a couple meetings lined up for that. But also... I might have... Um. I did something."  
  
Ah, fuck. "What did you do?"  
  
She arms herself with a look of contrition. Hanji actually looking apologetic for something means this shit is bad. God fucking damn it. "So, I was really pissed yesterday that you ditched us for your straight guy crush. And then I got really drunk, obviously. So I ended up emailing Christa about you and-"  
  
"I'm leaving." I quickly get up and exit the room, meanwhile Hanji is yelling my name behind me.   
  
"Levi! Levi, wait! Hold on!"  
  
Fuck it. Fuck her, _fuck her stupid life and it interfering with mine_.  
  
I already know the email is waiting for me in my inbox, from Christa. _Hey Levi, our last session was really productive. I think we should start having them weekly again. Great? Great. I have you scheduled for this Saturday at 10 AM. Thanks a lot, CL_  
  
The actual email sounds far more professional. She signs off with her full name, for one. And she expertly forces me into another session this coming Saturday. Perfect.  
  
I hate everyone. I hate everything. Hanji Zoe and Christa Lenz have ganged up on me and I didn't see it coming.  
  
I thought my morning orgasm was an indication of a good Monday. That was wrong.  
  
Fuck it. I'm gonna blame Eren for this too.  
  


* * *

  
When Eren and I planned his work schedule, he told me he'd Monday to get everything prepared. No need for me to be home today then, so I end up working at our offices all day, holing myself up as I pretend to send out emails and surf Reddit. I only leave my small office to piss and to have lunch with Mike at the vegan sandwich shop a block from our building.  
  
We like the salads there. Fuck off.  
  
I text Erwin before lunch. " _It was Moblit_ ," I send, and he responds with " _Knew it_." I get a photo on Snapchat of him sitting in his make-up chair, " _#Ready4MyCloseUp_ " and I have to start questioning _again_ why I'm still friends with these people.  
  
But I take his call anyway when I'm off work, set my iPhone on speaker in the car, and listen to Erwin talk about his day as I sit in god-awful rush hour traffic. The show he's filming for is something on Showtime. Wow. Yeah, big deal. Like the female _Californication_ , following a woman with a sex addiction or something, and he's playing her boyfriend. I asked if he'll have a sex scene in it but he wouldn't tell me.  
  
Erwin Smith, big man. Finally making it in the Sina acting business. I hope he'll remember me in his Emmy speech.  
  
We hang up but I'm still twenty minutes away from making it home. I curse cars some more. Fuck Sina, damn it. Can't say that enough. I eventually get to Stohess a little past 7 PM, and successfully avoid Jean with time to spare.  
  
This is especially good on a Monday, because most Mondays, Ymir's is empty and I can enjoy a drink or two without young hipster trash crowding the bar with their PBR tall cans, and suffering through another Portishead song for the fourth time in one night.   
  
Ymir's bar, The Swimming Hole, is one of the more popular joints in Stohess. It's off the main street, and she's got a free jukebox - and a dance floor for special events. It's fucking huge. Plus, Ymir is the best at what she does. Makes a mean, strong drink, whatever anyone's poison is. Fuck, even if it's just a beer you're asking for, shit tastes better at her bar simply because her hands have touched it. I swear it.  
  
I formally met her maybe two years back at another bar. Hanji called her over because Ymir made some huge scene at the front of the bar with whoever was bartending the place. I'm talking serious shit. She accused the bartender of stiffing her out of top-shelf vodka - _I can tell the fucking difference between Belvedere and UV, you fuck_ \- and she nearly got kicked out. But we sat her down in our booth, and made small talk. She said she owned a place in Stohess and a week later, I walked on over, did some taste tests and a beer flight, and she cleared my tab for the night.  
  
I've been in love with her since. So is everyone else. You get close enough with her, show your face frequently enough, you develop a camaraderie with her. Pretty soon, The Swimming Hole turns into "Ymir's." You go for Ymir, you stay for Ymir.  
  
I park in front of my place, and head inside quickly for a piss. Leave my salad leftovers in the fridge, and walk over to the bar. It's a couple blocks right off my street, but it's a ten-minute walk. Not a big deal.  
  
Her bar is basically a large, matte black building, incredibly non-descript save for the rectangular post above the door that reads "THE SWIMMING HOLE" in some type of weird western cowboy font. No bouncer because it's a Monday night. I open the door and walk in.  
  
 _Glory Box_ is playing.  
  
Fucking serious. Holy shit. I nearly turn back around and leave, but five seconds after registering the song that's blaring inside the bar, Agent Smith calls my name.  
  
" _Mister_ Ackerman!"  
  
Sasha Braus. My mood-turn is instant. She's been greeting me like that ever since finding out my last name. Haven't been able to take The Matrix seriously after that.  
  
Sasha and her boyfriend Connie are the _only_ Rose Garden residents I willingly go out of my way to speak to. She's the reason why they _call_ it the Rose Garden. She's a cooking prodigy. Started when she was in third grade, according to her. First thing out of high school, she worked for a popular food truck in Sina that specialized in making variants of baked potatoes. She still works part-time there, but she's got her own small business on the side now, growing her own produce at the back of the Rose Garden house. Chives, spinach, potatoes. She must have done a complete overhaul on their soil to be able to grow things out of there, or maybe she's just _that_ good. But anyway, kinda like what Eren did to me, she walks around the neighborhood, preaching _self-sustaining gardening_ and _organic produce_. But her baked potatoes are the shit, so she's popular.  
  
Plus, she's confident. She reminds me of Hanji back when she was 23 and fresh out of college, drowning in her own ambition. I respect Sasha and her cooking so much that I once suggested Hanji sign her up as talent, and try and get her a spot on Top Chef or one of those other reality competition shows. But Sasha just crinkled her nose at me, laughed, and gently touched my arm with her fully tattooed right one. _Do I really look like I belong on TV, Levi? Thanks though._   
  
Half of her head was shaved back then, too.  
  
She's grown it all back now, and keeps it in a high ponytail, though that's not too say she looks conventional at all. She's got a floral pattern tattoo on her collarbone and a full sleeve on her right arm, including a leopard, a sugar skull, and the McDonald's Hamburglar for some weird fucking reason. I've never asked. Seems rude to.  
  
Here at Ymir's, she looks right at home. When I look over to the direction of her voice, she's got a PBR tall can in her hand - of course - and sporting the usual "denim vest over a Sunday dress" look that she's perfected at this point. Connie's with her, looking much the opposite in white Adidas and denim cargo shorts. He turns to me from the bar and waves.  
  
"Three shots, Ymir! Levi's here!" Sasha shouts.  
  
"Two shots," I say as I walk over to them. They're the only ones sitting at the bar. There's a couple in the back sitting in high stools, probably on their first date. Seen too many of those here. "I haven't eaten dinner."  
  
"One shot," Connie says, and turns back to his girlfriend with an affectionate smile. "I'm supposed to be driving tonight, you completely irresponsible..."  
  
"Let's get drunk tonight and just leave tomorrow morning," Sasha says and hooks her arm around his shoulders. "Please?"  
  
"Where are you headed?" I ask and take a seat at the bar. Ymir started moving behind the counter as soon as Sasha shouted my name, and she approaches me now with a just-opened glass bottle of New Castle. "Thanks," I tell her and she gives me a wink before turning back around and grabbing a fifth of Jim Beam.   
  
I watch her tighten the nozzle on it and reach for a shot glass. "Connie's got an art show up north," Ymir proudly says.  
  
"Congratulations," I say, holding up my bottle as a means to cheer him.  
  
Connie raises his glass of water at me. "Thanks, man." We both take a sip of our drinks, and then he sets his down and reaches into his hooded sweater to pull out his phone. "It's just one big piece up at a gallery. The opening reception is on Thursday night, but we want to visit a couple friends before that happens. Here." He slides his phone over to me, and I pick it up. It's a photo of his print, I'm assuming, of a woman's side-silhouette, looking like it's dripping off the canvas.  
  
I don't know. I don't know a lot about art. "That's great," I tell him, and hand it back over. He nods.  
  
Ymir sets the shot of whiskey in front of Sasha. "Here, girl. Drink up."  
  
"Wait, I'm really doing this by myself? I've still got half of this beer left," she whines. Mini-Hanji. I fucking swear.  
  
Ymir rolls her eyes and turns back to me. "These two characters," she says, and points a thumb to them. "They come in here, tell me Sasha's allowed to drink before they leave if she agrees to drive back -"  
  
"Which I did!" Sasha says, still eyeing the whiskey warily.  
  
"Then suck it up and take it!" Ymir turns back around and yells. She's not actually upset, though. We all know this. "You wanted this situation, you got it. Drink up."  
  
"She's right," I add. "Drink."  
  
"Drink! Drink! Drink!" Connie says, smacking his hand against the counter top. Ymir is laughing and I can't help smiling either. Sasha snatches the shot glass and downs it like a champ. Like Hanji yesterday, probably. Like me. In my prime.  
  
She licks her lips and winces, opens her mouth and fans her tongue. "I hate you guys. Ganging up on me. I'm changing songs on the jukebox, Ymir, can I get a glass of water, _pleeease_?" She hops off the stool and walks off.  
  
"No Morrissey songs. I'm tired of his ass," Ymir yells.  
  
"Damn it!"  
  
I hide my chuckles behind my beer bottle. Ymir pours a glass of water, fast and efficiently, and sets it right next to Sasha's PBR. When she turns to me, I regard her with a nod.  
  
"How've you been?" I ask.  
  
She shrugs. "Can't complain. How are the others? I miss Hanji. No, I miss Mike. They're so allergic to this side of Sina, it's insane."  
  
"I can't blame them. But I think they just hate driving down here."  
  
"Tell them to Uber over here then. Did you ever hear back from that guy last week?"  
  
"No," I say. "Good thing, though."  
  
"Ooh," she says with a quirked eyebrow. "Not a good lay then?"  
  
"What?" Connie says, looking a little shocked.  
  
 _This Charming Man_ by The Smiths starts playing and Ymir immediately calls out: "What the hell did I just say?"  
  
Sasha triumphantly bounces back to her chair, looking smug. "You said Morrissey. Not The Smiths."  
  
"I'm really contemplating kicking you out of my bar right now," Ymir shoots back. I bet she's half-joking.   
  
I change the subject and glance at Connie. "How long are you staying up north for?"  
  
"For like, a week, I think," Connie answers. Sasha nods and is double-fisting her drinks. "Good timing too, our house is kinda chaotic right now."  
  
I snort. "Don't think much has changed there."  
  
"We got a new roommate," Sasha says, setting the glass of water down. The PBR is still in her hand. "One of Armin's friends. He's adorable. Mikasa is in _love_."  
  
Wow, holy shit. As if Rose Garden needed any more fucking residents. Like six, seven people living there already. "Which one is Armin again?" Ymir and I ask at the same time.  
  
"Blond dude," Connie says. "Granola fiend? Intense yogi? Dresses like Kurt Cobain?"  
  
"Oh my god, he totally does!" Sasha squeals. "How have I not seen it before?"  
  
"I make fun of him all the time for it," Connie says. "Goes to show how funny you find me." Sasha responds with a kiss on his cheek. Young puppy love at its best. Fucking cavity-inducing.  
  
"Gross, you smell like Pabst, woman."  
  
"Anyway," Sasha continues, ignoring him. "He's been around for like, two weeks now and his stuff is still in boxes at our place. Kinda _rude_ , actually, right?"  
  
"Tell him to get his shit together," Ymir offers.  
  
"We don't know him like that yet. I mean, I think he means well. Whatever."  
  
"I hated having roommates when I was your age," Ymir says, picking up Connie's empty glass of water and setting it in the sink. "I always got stuck with creeps. And straight people."  
  
"Yeah, we're the worst," Connie says with a grin.  
  
Meanwhile I'm putting two and two together in my head. My chest hurts. No, it's my head. As if it couldn't get any fucking worse...   
  
"Hey. Your new roommate," I interrupt their conversation, looking hard at the bottle in front of me. "What's his name?"  
  
"Huh? Oh. Eren _Jaaeeger_ ," Sasha answers. "Best name in the world."  
  
"Eren Jaeger?" Ymir repeats. "That can't be real. Holy fuck. How German is this guy?"  
  
"He's like, German and Cuban or something. Mikasa _grilled_ him, it was like a surreal round of speed-dating mixed with an interview. She's head over heels. Oh my god."  
  
Ymir laughs, comes over to my side of the bar and checks the status of my beer. Half-way done. "You hearing this, Levi?"  
  
I nod. Should I say it? Admit that I know this guy? Eren Jaeger, my 20-year-old handy man, newest member of the most pretentious group of residents in the fucking neighborhood. I've been thinking about him since I've met him. Infatuation? No. Just genuine fascination. He gets more interesting by the hours that I've seen his face.  
  
"If it's the same guy we're talking about, he's painting my house tomorrow." There. I said it. Connie looks mildly interested, Sasha's mouth drops, and Ymir... knows me well enough by now to keep her gaze on me, her mouth parting for a different reason. Yeah. She can guess why I let this happen.  
  
I take a sip of my beer.  
  
"You're the one that hired him!" Sasha yells. "I wish you could have seen him today! He came home with like, seven buckets of paint, all packed into Marco's truck."  
  
"Marco let him borrow his truck?" Connie asks.  
  
Sasha gently pats him on his chest. "Yeah, you know how Marco is. His kindness is going to get him killed one day, I swear. So anyway, I had to ask, 'Hey, Eren, why do you have so much paint,' and he goes on and on about how this really nice guy down the street is letting him paint his house and how he's _so_ appreciative, he doesn't know how to say thanks, and - Levi, I would have totally asked more about who hired him but Eren started placing all these buckets of fucking paint in the middle of our hallway and I was still packing for this trip up north so I was like. 'Ugh.' Eren. What a dweeb. You know he has like, no clue what he's doing right?"  
  
I take another sip because... I don't know how to respond to any of this.  
  
She goes on. "Like, when Mikasa suggested working around the neighborhood and asked about his work experience, he said he worked at, like, Home Depot for a couple months after high school. Levi..." she laughs, and it makes me want to squirm in my seat. "Did he catch you on a good day... or? Why did you hire him?"  
  
"Yeah, Levi," Ymir says, leaning against the counter top, cupping her face with both hands in front of me, teasingly. "Why _did_ you hire him?"  
  
I finish my beer.  
  
"He looked like he needed help adjusting to the neighborhood." I add a shrug for good measure.  
  
"Well, maybe, you know... Un-hire him," Sasha responds.  
  
"You're looking for the word fired," Connie says.  
  
Sasha gets up from her chair and stretches. "Whatever. Do I have time for another song, Connie?"  
  
"Yeah, go ahead," he says, getting up as well. "I'm gonna use the restroom."  
  
They both walk off in different directions, leaving me alone with Ymir and her freckled, insistent expression.  
  
"So. You fuck him yet?"  
  
I don't know what it is about Ymir that gets me wanting to be completely honest with her. She's the antithesis of my therapist, non-judgmental even though I don't pay her to listen to my shit. Well. I guess I do pay her to listen, with the amount of beer she's fed me since I found this place. But Ymir won't go emailing my therapist, won't insist I need help for anything I say.  
  
"No," I say. "He's 20."  
  
"So?"  
  
"I'm 32."  
  
"It's not even that," she says, and plucks the empty bottle from my fingers. "He's living in Rose Garden? Wait, what does Jean call it? Hippie House? How didn't you know?"  
  
"He looked pretty normal to me," I answer. "Swear to god, Ymir. Wouldn't be caught around their house. Even when I buy food from Sasha, I make sure she comes over to my place. I hate that side of the block."  
  
"Okay, okay," Ymir says. Fleetwood Mac is Sasha's next choice for music. She smiles. "Also overplayed, but better. Hey, you want another beer?"  
  
"Haven't decided yet." First beer's got me feeling okay.  
  
I see Ymir opening the small fridge behind the counter anyway. "I'll play enabler. Here. Second one's on me. Just stay a little while, and keep me company. It's fucking dead tonight." She sets another bottle in front of me, and I take it without arguing.  
  
Connie and Sasha return at the same time, and he starts gathering their stuff to leave, I assume. Sasha works on the rest of her tall can, tilts her head further back as she empties it.  
  
"How're you feeling?" Ymir casually asks her.  
  
Sasha burps and slams the can on the counter. "Buzzed. Can I have another shot?"  
  
"Get out of my bar," Ymir responds, and we all laugh. "Hey Sasha. Is this new roommate of yours single?"  
  
"Uh, yeah? He just moved here?"  
  
"You interested, Ymir?" Connie asks while wrapping an arm around Sasha's waist. She fondly rubs his buzzed scalp. "We'll put in a good word for you if you want. Find you a nice man."  
  
"Please do," she says with mirth.  
  
Both of them laugh again and they start heading out, turning around one last time to wave bye at us. Ymir walks back over to me and smiles. "What's stopping you, Levi? He's single."  
  
I just shake my head and don't offer anymore with words. Ymir lets out a long sigh and puts her hands on her hips. "All right, okay. I'll drop it." She tilts her head toward the couple still sitting in the dark. "Look, let's people-watch. Yeah?"  
  
I nod and sit straight up, trying to catch sight of them through my peripheral. I stay for an hour, shooting the shit with Ymir, and she doesn't bring up Eren again.  
  
I eat the rest of my salad when I get home, try to relax. Get to bed at midnight but fall asleep around 1. The week might be dull. Staying home and working.  
  
Or maybe interesting. I don't know.  
  
I don't want to think about it too much.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eren gets to work. Levi is curious. Also, Jean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, didn't mean to lose my momentum and not update for a month+, but I'm here to try and make up for it with... a DOUBLE chapter update. yeyeyyeyeeeee, CH 6 should be up within the hour/probably up right now by the time you all read this.

I'm surprisingly nervous.

Well, maybe _nervous_ isn't the right word for it. More like... _dread_. Anticipation. Like waiting for company to come over that you don't want to entertain. Or waiting for the cable guy to come re-install some wires running through the house. Who makes agonizing small talk about what you do, what channels you want added, and arrives two hours later than he said he would.

Dread. Definitely not excitement, even though I can admit Eren _Jaeger_ is four times attractive than anyone that Verizon would ever send over. And Eren's proven to be punctual, so I'm not worried about him flaking out on his job.

But other than that, and especially with hearing Sasha's testimony last night, I can't help worrying that my house will come toppling down from Eren's alleged uselessness by the end of the day.

But I should give the guy the benefit of the doubt. Eren looks like a good kid after all, from what little interaction I've had with him. Maybe.

Anyway, feeling nervous concurrently makes me feel stupid every damn time it happens, so I try clearing my mind by sending out work emails and a couple press releases from my laptop. It works until a little after 12:30, when I hear my front gate rattle open and close. My chest immediately does something weird at the sound, and I want to roll my eyes at my body's reaction.

I get up from the couch, but not to prematurely answer the door. There's a large mirror that hangs on the door of my living room closet, so I start preening in front of it, tugging at the straps of my black muscle shirt. It's sweltering hot today, but my air conditioning is doing a good job of masking the fact. I look at myself in the mirror and frown. Smile. Frown again. Fuck it. At least I don't look _too_ tired.

The knock on the door finally announces itself. I scratch the back of my neck and sigh.

Eren's holding a small, metal ladder with both arms and sets it down when I open my door. He smiles, and I can see dust from the ladder presumably, clinging to his white shirt. I almost find myself too distracted by the lack of paint in his hands to remember how "nervous" I had been feeling. No backpack on him either. Just a ladder. Hmm.

He answers my question before I can ask it.

"So it turns out I have to scrape and sand your house _before_ I can get any painting started. Right? But before that, I gotta wash the panels and make sure the exterior's clean and all, and that's gonna take me all day. But I was crunching numbers this morning and I think I can get this all finished by Friday, I don't know if we um, talked about that. I hope that's okay. Hi, by the way."

I had figured this wouldn't be a one-day job, but Eren's still fed me a lot of information to take in. I just nod and run a hand through my hair.

"Hi," I say first. My eyes fleetingly focus on his blue jeans. "It's fine. I'll be around here anyway, if you need anything." I lean on my doorway. "How was shopping?"

"Right," Eren suspiciously responds. I had given him a $300 deposit for supplies, figuring that'd be enough. Not sure how much a home maintenance bill would run, to be honest. He sets his hands on his hips and looks at the floor. "Yeah, I uh, I went shopping. We can talk about that later though. Should I get started? Do you have a hose?"

"It's out back," I answer, and step off the porch to lead him.

The sun's rays are on me as soon as my feet hit the grass of my front lawn. "Shit, it's hot," I mutter instinctively, while all the black fabric against my skin absorbs the heat, warming nearly every inch of my skin.

"Yeah, it's supposed to be hot all week," Eren responds from behind me. I don't say anything to that, but I walk faster to the side-gate around the left side of my house. Like fuck am I staying in this heat for longer than I have to, even if it's to ogle Eren Jaeger from afar.

Eren continues talking while he follows me to the back of my house. "Hey, Levi. Um, thanks again for letting me do this. You're doing me a real solid, man."

"Don't mention it," I absentmindedly trail off, my eyes scanning the concrete yard for the hose coiled in the corner. My back yard isn't much of a yard. No grass, just pavement and a small plastic table with two lawn chairs set around it. I'm rarely out here anyway, only when Hanji and the gang come by and they've overstayed their welcome.

I start unraveling the hose for Eren and hand it over to him. "There are spigots on either sides of the house, and the hose is long enough to reach wherever you need to. You said you're... washing my house..?"

Eren fervently nods and tightly clutches the hose in his hand. He turns away from me, this time being the one to lead us back up to the front yard. "Yeah, um. It'll be a pretty long process to go from white to green, but -"

"Green?" I ask. We hadn't really discussed color. I had assumed it would have just been a new coat of white paint.

"Oh," Eren says as he stops in his tracks, turning around to face me. I've taken in his outfit already, but this is the first moment since he's arrived that I can focus on his facial features. His precious babyface has a sudden guilty expression on it, he looks so damn worried. His green eyes are etched with concern.

"Shit. I'm sorry, Levi. Wow, um. I should have asked but it completely slipped my mind - I bought all green paint because I thought a different color would be nice, you know? I don't know, you just seemed like the type of person to like the color green? I'm sorry. Man, I'm sorry, I messed up. I still have the receipts, so I can return the paint- _What_?"

I'm smirking. He's hilarious.

"Green is fine," I casually tell him. He asks if I'm sure and I nod. Then he thanks me - twice - and continues walking.

"Don't worry," he says. "I'll try not to make a mess."

* * *

  
The day passes slowly, painfully. I don't have an excuse to stay and hang awkwardly outside with Eren, especially on a work day, but like I said, it's too hot today in Sina to do that anyway. So I'm on my Macbook Air for most of the afternoon, checking and writing emails, keeping correspondence with Hanji over GChat. Fucking boring.

Meanwhile, my background noise is the inconsistent stream of the hose hitting different parts of my home. Eren goes counter-clockwise, from what I can tell. I hear him curse loudly once or twice, along with occasional bumps against the house that I assume is the ladder being resettled against the sides.

He doesn't ask for help, not even when three-and-a-half hours have passed. It's nearing four when I close my laptop and call it a day. I rub my eyes to alleviate the straining from staring at a computer screen for hours.

I should head outside. Eren should be done.

I walk out and I immediately spot Eren in the center of my front yard, half-shirtless. His back is toward me as he struggles to put the white shirt back over his head. His hair looks damp and the hose is curled by his feet, still spouting water. He looks like he's just finished drenching his upper half in water, and I don't blame him. The afternoon heat is merciless right now. It surrounds me even in the shade, making it hard to comfortably breathe.

A voice rings out among the dry heat. "Levi!"

Ah, fuck.

I look over to my right, slowly, and reluctantly wave a hand back and forth to Jean. He's leaning against the closest porch column to my place, arms crossed and looking semi-casual. The sleeves to his white shirt are rolled up to his shoulders. Can't tell if his hair looks damp because of pomade or from the 85+ degree heat.

Jean's hands don't move from their restricted positions against his chest, but he does manage to give me a rough wave by wiggling his index and middle finger at me. Jean then looks over to Eren and scowls.

I follow his gaze. Eren's looking at me now, face flushed with heat. He's panting, and his shirt is clinging to his half-dried frame. I bet that's how he looks...

Nah, I won't say it.

"It's so hot!" Eren yells. "Hold on!"

I wait for him on the porch while he turns off my hose. Jean is still looking into my yard however, and I see him finally move out of his defensive position. He digs into his jeans and takes out a packet of cigarettes, absently stuffing one in his mouth as his gaze returns back into his own porch now. He looks contemplative. Whatever. Gross habit. I mean both the smoking and the prying.

"Your neighbor? Jean? He's really fucking weird."

Eren's beside me now. I casually regard him and smirk. "Yeah. He is. Don't let him catch you saying that, though."

Eren frowns. "Whatever. He's been staring at me for the past hour. Like, with that scowl and everything. I don't know what his deal is."

"I wish I knew too."

A pause.

"So, Levi..."

I fully turn to him now, giving him an inquisitive look. "Yeah? You finished for today?"

Eren nods and shifts his weight. "There's also the matter of, um... so... The deposit, right?"

I nod. He looks uncomfortable. "I might need a couple hundred more," he says.

I don't say anything, because while he's hot as fuck, I don't know if he's been planning to use that to his advantage to get more money from me. Not that I'm stingy. But it's the principle of the thing.

"You probably think I'm taking advantage of you, I know, but um... Paint was like, 35 bucks a bucket and I'm not sure I bought enough... I need a respirator too. Look, the other things I can borrow. You know the ladder? I borrowed that, we had it laying outside the house and --"

"Eren," I say. The rambling doesn't suit him. Do I make him nervous too? Or he is always like this?

"Do you... normally ramble like this?" I ask. What can I say, I'm upfront.

He looks like he's unsure if it's a rhetorical question or not. I'm not sure either. I answer before he does. "Will $200 be enough?"

"More than enough," he loudly answers. "Like I said, I can totally borrow some supplies from my roommate. One of them's an artist, so he's always working on his bedroom walls and has all kinds of stuff laying around."

"Right," I say. "Connie."

Eren blinks. "What? Yeah, how'd you --"

"I ran into him and Sasha last night," I tell him as I fish out my wallet. Just 80 bucks in there.

"I didn't know you knew them," Eren quietly says as I walk inside for more cash. I don't offer to elaborate on that, though.

When Eren leaves, he thanks me numerous times, promising to make it up to me when the job is done. I tell him it isn't a problem, and he enthusiastically waves back at me when he leaves through my front gate.

He isn't even up the block yet before Jean yells my name and calls me over.

We meet by the hedges.

"You know he lives over at Hippie House, right?" he practically snarls.

This hostility toward Eren is... strange. Even for Jean.

I don't know how he expects me to answer. "Why?" I end up saying. Not very eloquent, I know.

Jean nods, snorts, and then spits in his yard. Disgusting. "I found out this weekend."

"Oh."

"Wanna know how?"

We all know he's going to tell me anyway.

"I was over there, hanging out with Mikasa, right?"

"Still trying?" I interject. What devotion.

He nods and keeps going, side-eyeing the sidewalk as he does so, even though Eren's gone by now. "Yeah, I was. I mean, I _am_. And she told me - "

Suddenly, his cheeks turn pink and he looks down at the grass.

This... _what_.

"You know what she said? She said..." Jean huffs. Get on with it, Kirstein, fuck.

"She said, she'd agree to sleep with me if I have a threesome with her new roommate."

Holy _shit._

The short laugh out of my mouth is instantaneous. I keep laughing until I realize he's not looking very amused. I clear my throat and quirk an eyebrow. "What, is she serious?"

"Yeah!" he exclaims, voice raised an octave. "Come on, you know how she is."

"Not really," I say. I steer clear from Queen Yuppie Ackerman as much as I can. But she's definitely new age from what Jean's told me. Into crystal healing and maxi dresses. A _beautiful open mind_ , I swear Jean has raved to me. I don't know.

Then I remember the comments that Sasha had been making about her and Eren last night. Guess it had merit. Someone over at Hippie House has a crush.

So I have to ask. "You considering it, Jean?"

There's hesitation. Jean opens his mouth, closes it, and then looks down at the hedge between us.

Holy shit. He _is_.

Suddenly, I'm fucking irritated.

"I don't know, man," he mutters weakly, and runs a hand through his hair.

This conversation has somehow escalated into something I didn't expect and I don't want a part of it anymore. "Bye, Jean," I gruffly say and turn. He continues yelling at me until I'm inside:

"Hey, Levi! Dude! It's not like I've ever been with a guy, you know? But Mi-Mikasa... I mean, once I was at one of their parties and woke up between her and Armin? But like... It's Armin, you know? That shit doesn't count! Levi? LEVI!!"

* * *

  
Wednesday finds Eren back at my front porch, earlier than yesterday, sporting a dust mask and goggles on his face. He's holding a decently sized sander in his hands and carefully sets it down by the ladder he had left behind yesterday. Then he shoves a hand in his jeans and brings out another small mask to offer to me.

"I think you should stay inside for most of today," he says, his voice muffled because of the mask. "I'm sanding down a lot of spots around your house. It's gonna get messy and a little dangerous."

That's disappointing. But, _dangerous_?

The words leave my mouth before I can think about it.

"You sure you know what you're doing here, Eren?"

Something flashes in his green eyes and I feel a sliver of guilt for questioning his skills. Eren briefly looks down at his shoes but then back at me, and whatever I just saw in his eyes is replaced with... _fire._ Something fierce that hadn't been there before. Strangely.

"Yeah of course, why wouldn't I? I wouldn't have offered if I didn't," he says. He sounds annoyed. Fuck. "I won't mess this up. Even if it's going to take me all day."

He picks up the ladder and starts stepping off my porch. "Don't come out today," he calls out.

I can't help feeling like I've offended him. Regardless, I place the mask he gives me in my pocket and walk back inside.

* * *

  
I feel like shit for possibly offending Eren. Don't wanna reflect on the reasons for this too deeply, I just chalk it up to me not being _that_ shitty of a person to maliciously put someone down. That's it. That's all.

So in the early afternoon, I head outside with a glass of lemonade for Eren. Because like he predicted yesterday, it's warm outside, and I figured he could use a drink. Sure, there might be some perverse implication with me offering _lemonade_ of all things, but really, he won't take my beer, and maybe something sweet will... I don't know. Present itself to him as a sincere apology. Or something. Just don't judge me, all right?

Plus, the conversation with Jean last night has been creeping into my thoughts all day. More curiosity. I'd love to know what he thinks about his living situation. How he feels about his roommates. Particularly Mikasa.

Eren isn't in the front of my house. I glance around my yard in confusion for a couple of seconds.

Turns out he's behind back.

Shirtless.

Fucking kill me already.

...Someone works out, apparently.

He doesn't notice me at first, which I'm thankful for, because I take the extra moments to stare. Nice abs. Glazed with sweat. He may be wearing a respirator and large, oversized goggles, but he's also in the middle of sanding down my damn house. And it doesn't matter what kind of person you are, there's something so primal and fucking  _attractive_ about someone knowing how to handle machinery like that.

Fuck, I bet a sander isn't even hard to use, but Eren's stance right now, feet on the third highest rung of the ladder without holding onto anything for balance, casually working his equipment against my house, sun beating down on his chest. My god. It's religious, really.

It's then he finally notices me, and he quickly turns off the sander. He looks like he's about to wave, but he almost loses his balance and he precariously wobbles to and fro as he tries regaining it. I automatically move a couple steps forward, and my heart decelerates once I see he's caught himself.

Eren pulls down his dust mask and he's laughing. "Whoa, that was a close one."

Even his moment of clumsiness is just as attractive as what I had been eyeing moments before.

"I thought I said not to come out here," he yells lightheartedly.

He seems like he's in a good mood. I raise up the glass of lemonade until it's in his line of vision. "I brought you something to drink."

Eren wipes his forehead with his left forearm. "Yeah?" he asks. He looks off to the side, presumably to check how much work he's got left. Meanwhile I sneak a couple more glances at his chest and stomach. Completely unfair. Only 20, too... Remember that, Levi.

He eventually looks back at me and shrugs. "Yeah... Yeah, I could go for some lemonade." Then he slowly starts descending the ladder with the sander in his hand.

Eren sets all his equipment down when he reaches the ground, including the goggles that are too big for his face. He approaches me and takes the glass of lemonade from my hands.

"Where's yours?"

_Right_. It didn't register I should have come out with a drink of my own. I hesitate, try and think of a reason why I've only come out with one glass, but Eren just laughs and takes a long sip. He smacks his lips when he's done and then eyes the glass with some form of admiration. "Wow, that's good. Did you make it?"

I shake my head. "Store-bought. Sina will freeze over before I can make a decent pitcher of lemonade."

"Never say never, man," Eren says, taking another sip. Another lip-smack. "I never thought I'd move to Sina, let alone refurbish someone's house, so... Anything can happen, you know?"

I think that's as much of an admission to his novice skills that I'm going to get. I don't want to anger him again, but I can't ignore what he's just said. I'm not too infatuated to let this kid ruin my home.

Wait. I'm not infatuated, period.

"So," I slowly begin. I briefly look down and focus on a crack in the pavement. "You don't have experience doing this kind of stuff. Right?"

The question is uncomfortable for the both of us. When I look up, Eren doesn't necessarily look upset; just pensive. As pensive as a shirtless guy can look, I mean. "No, not really. I mean. In theory, I know what to do, but never... Yeah. I mean, I worked at Home Depot for a while, and helped a ton of people out with this kind of stuff."

"Yeah?" I offer. I'm not convinced by his answer at all.

Eren sighs and looks flustered. I think he realizes it, too. "Please don't fire me."

"A little too late for that, even if I wanted to," I say.

We stand in silence for a long moment. I'm trying to think of a response, something motivational and positive, that will assure him I'm not mad at him. Just concerned. But I'm awful at wording that type of shit. I'm not my therapist, after all.

Eren speaks first, exhaling loudly before he begins. "Look. Levi. I'm really trying here. I swear. I need the money, and I can promise you I won't burn your home to the ground or anything. Just leave it to me, I can do it."

That fire is back in his eyes.

"All right?" Eren asks. "I can do it."

And I think I actually believe him.

* * *

  
Eren leaves at 6, and in good spirits, it seems. I try and keep him at my home longer, just to talk. As odd as that sounds coming from me. I never got to the bottom of his living situation, but he tells me he has to get back to Rose Garden because he's starving. _Armin is cooking tonight. You know Armin, right?_ I just nod, shrug. Yeah, Eren. Sure.

He tells me he'll be back early tomorrow, and that he's making good time because my house is abnormally small, one-floor, and isn't in as bad of a shape as we initially thought. The actual painting won't start until Friday, he had said. But he was nearly there.

I awkwardly shake his hand when he says bye. His shirt is back on by dusk. Unfortunate.

I linger on my lawn and watch him go, stuff my hands in my jeans pockets and dawdle like a jackass. I don't why. Eren doesn't turn back, not that I had expected him to. But I find myself staring as his figure gets further up the street's incline, walking up the block until he's out of my peripheral.

I kick at my lawn absently and stare at the grass. It's starting to grow again, I think.

I turn around with the intention of heading inside to eat some dinner myself, but I notice Jean out on his porch again. Staring. Though this time he seems far more passive than the day before. His feet are kicked up on his banister, and since I'm staring back now, he casually gives me a salute.

I should head inside. I start trekking the path... but seeing Jean's face reminds me of what he told me yesterday. Threesomes. Rose Garden. Hippie House. Eren's roommates...

"Something on your mind, Levi?" Jean calls out, breaking my scattered thoughts. Yeah, there is. Well, no. There isn't. Not anything productive, at least. I'm thinking that might be the problem here.

I see Jean straightening up from his seat, probably to saunter over to the hedges for conversation.

Before he can get up though, I turn my back to my house. And I start walking.

Out of my yard, onto the sidewalk, and into Jean's front lawn.

It doesn't feel like swallowing down any pride, not until I look up and see Jean's shocked expression. I've never really done this. I've never willingly walked into Jean's personal space like this to seek voluntary conversation. Fuck, this is weird. But I push through. The curiosity is more overwhelming than any shame and regret I'll feel from the aftermath of giving Jean the idea that we're actually friends.

"What is it, man?" Jean asks when I walk up the steps to his porch. There's no other chair aside from the one Jean is using so I just lean against his house's column and cross my arms against my chest.

I've mastered the art of _casual_ by now, so I just shrug. "Not much." This still feels strange, though. But fuck it. I'm already here.

"What can you tell me about Rose Garden?" I ask.

Jean blinks. "You mean, like the house?" He scratches behind his ear. "I don't know... It's pretty huge, both in and out --"

"I mean the residents," I say. "Everyone. I know Sasha and Connie, but... Tell me about the rest."

As I expect - and I can't blame him because this is coming out of nowhere - Jean looks dumbfounded and he looks up at me from his seat with confused, slightly suspicious eyes. He runs a hand through his combed-back hair. "Uh, okay, but... Why?"

I can't think of a reason except for the truth.

"I want to know more about this Eren guy."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paint and music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapter updates this week, in case someone gets confused/doesn't notice, idk.
> 
> Sorry, but I'm the type of douche that drops a heavy amount of musical references in her fics (these stories have soundtracks, and Levi's and Eren's music tastes are super important to me IT'S NOT MY FAULT).
> 
> And man, if you get the weird aesthetic/vibe I'm trying to go for, we should be friends. sorry not sorry about mikasa, my queen

Jean tells me more than I would have cared to know about Rose Garden, effectively breaking his record of time spent talking to me in one sitting. Half a fucking hour. Congratulations, Kirstein.

He starts with Marco, because I've encountered him more than the others, aside from Sasha and Connie; says that Marco is only around half the time because he attends the University of Sina and takes his studies very seriously. _He seemed like such a weenie at first,_ Jean had said, _but one time we got stuck together as beer pong partners over at the house, and we kicked everyone's ass that night_.

He tells me about Thomas and Mina next, the couple I had seen Eren wave to last Sunday. Thomas is attending college too, but according to Jean, he has his father paying for everything. School and rent. Clothes, too. He just _chooses_ to be a hipster. Jean's words, not mine. _Changes his look every month, I swear. Right now he's doing the whole "crust punk" thing. Except when he goes to class._

_What's crust punk?_ I had asked.

_Exactly how it sounds like, man. Crusty._

Apparently, Mina, Thomas' girlfriend, is one of those trendy gothic people sprouting up in Stohess nowadays. Jean had a word for it but I forgot. _Not the typical ones that listen to like, The Cure and shit. But you know. She wears all black all the time. And velvet. Kind of a fraud because I think she's into Feist and synthpop, but I mean, she and Thomas are okay._..

He spends more time describing the last two residents. Armin is the second biggest hippie in that house, with stringy blond hair that he hardly washes to conserve water, and he only flushes the toilet when the water isn't clear anymore. He's a pan-romantic asexual - I asked Jean what that meant, but he just shrugged and said, _he likes to cuddle_. He's also a _yogi_ , again, Jean's words, not mine. Wears over-sized sweaters with hideous patterns but it works on him, allegedly, though how he manages it, Jean has no idea. He's the one who organizes yoga sessions at the house every other Sunday, and he's the one that helped Eren snag a room at the house.

And of course, in his eyes, he saves the best for last. Mikasa Ackerman - no relation of course, but Jean has to mention it's really funny that we share the same last name since we're complete opposites.

_What can I say about Mikasa, man?_ Jean says, practically swooning. The Jasmine to his Aladdin. I fucking get it, Kirstein. Keep your tongue in your mouth.

I suppose she's pretty for her age. 23. Birthday in February. 5'7, and surprisingly fit. Of course Jean starts spitting traits of hers like a grocery list. I tell him to get on with it, that I don't fucking need her bra size and shit, and he gets embarrassed but moves on. Rose Garden is under her name, the house left to her by family. She doesn't work, but supports herself by the rent the others give her, and a small Etsy shop where she sells box sets of crystals.

Jean had then offered to head inside and show me some he's bought from her, but I declined.

He had said Mikasa's _new age_ , _but definitely not the annoying type._ She's into crystals because she believes in their healing powers. Believes in reincarnation, and that has something to do with this apparent crush she's developed on my hot handyman. She told Jean she swears they've met in a past life. I have to try my hardest not to groan and roll my eyes over this.

_You just have to talk to her, all right? The most interesting girl you could ever meet. You'll fall in love._ _Eren's so fucking lucky._ Jesus Christ, Jean.

Anyway, all the information he gives me is only half-useful, if at all. I had been hoping that something he'd reveal would help me make conversation with Eren. Instead, I have so many questions that need answering. That entire Victorian house is filled to the brim with quirky little yuppies, from artists, to yogis, to crystal healers. Eren and Marco seem like the only normal ones, and even Marco's got his weird "shove-a-diet" vibe going for him. Not forgetting his weird obsession with kale chips any time soon.

So what's Eren's quirk? An extensive vinyl collection? A book of confessional poetry he's written and trying to get published? Being straight-edge? I _don't_ fucking get it.

I keep thinking about it, and then dig even further and wonder if I'm more bothered by not knowing shit about Eren, or that I _want_ to know about Eren.

But I don't know how to confront my emotions, my thoughts. I never have. It's something the women in my life - Christa, Hanji, Ymir - have told me time and time again.

I probably don't know how to confront other people either, but I still try anyway. So on Thursday afternoon, having been plagued with a swirling amount of questions, I finish my work early, head outside where Eren's back on the ladder and slapping primer on the left exterior side of my house, and I ask:

"What's with you?"

He doesn't realize I'm there, so he startles when he hears my voice, nearly dropping the brush he's using to coat my house with primer. He catches it and turns around, wide-eyed and scared. But his face settles back when he realizes it's just me. He exhales and my chest constricts.

"What?"

I realize my question is _too_ upfront. And he probably shouldn't be having a conversation while he's working. I clear my throat and look at the wall, shiny and wet from Eren's work. He's put in a lot of effort today, it seems.

"I meant how are you holding up," I clarify. "In the neighborhood."

"Oh," Eren says. He gives me a glance and then turns back to the wall he's working on. He continues painting while he answers me. "I'm good. Everything's good. I haven't really done much exploring yet, but I will soon. One of my roommates - my landlord - wants to show me around the city, like cycling around the area... Going to the beach, maybe checking out a brewery or two. So that's cool."

"Hm. Mikasa, right?"

"Yup," Eren replies, and looks back over his shoulder. "So you know her? I asked my roommates about you earlier this week, and they said they don't really talk to you. Like, they just know _of_ you from Jean or something."

"I only talk to Sasha and Connie," I admit. I briefly wonder if I'm coming off snobby. "I promise they can both vouch for me," I add for good measure.

"Oh yeah?" Eren says and flashes me a grin before painting over another spot on the wall. "That's good then. I'll ask them for some Levi stories when they come back from up north."

"You can also ask me, you know. I'm right here. In the flesh."

Eren laughs and I watch him shake his head. "No, no. You'll um... You'll like size yourself up to try and impress me. Right?"

"I'm naturally impressive," I answer.

"I bet you are."

I think the kid's flirting with me. Holy _shit_.

Well, I might have been as well. In fact, this would be the time I turn receptive, move closer, and cut to the chase because I don't like playing these fucking dating games with people. But I'm not trying to give in today. Time to nip this in the bud and steer the conversation to a more platonic area.

Eren ends up doing that for me though. "So what do you do, exactly? Jean's just told them you're a big-shot in the city. I wasn't too sure what that meant."

"Yeah, I, uh... I work for a talent agency. We scout anyone interesting. Actors. Musicians. Artists." I try and downplay this when anyone asks. Reactions range from either blase, _oh-you're-one-of-_ those looks, or a sudden desire to kiss my ass.

I figure Eren wouldn't react in these ways, and he proves me right. "An agency? Whoa,  that _is_ impressive. What's that like?"

I don't know why. Etiquette tells me I should probably lie, but I tell Eren the truth.

"Not very satisfying."

The words taste bitter leaving my mouth and they spread out awkwardly in the space between us.

Two long beats before Eren responds. "Oh... That... sucks. I would have thought the opposite."

Leaving this kind of impression will serve beneficial; it'll stop him from being coy with me. But there's a small ball of shame in my stomach. I don't _want_ him pitying me, finding me awkward, even if it's the truth. Gotta change the subject. "How is it living with so many people? Lot of disorganization, I'd bet."

Eren's shoulders move as he shrugs. "Eh," he responds, and hunches over to his right to dip his brush in primer. "You would think, but Mikasa's got a set of house rules and everyone's really nice. They use this word all the time..."

"Self-sustaining."

"Yeah," Eren says, back still facing me. "So like, Armin cooked last night and I washed the dishes, right? So today it's Marco's turn to cook, and someone else will clean up afterward. So there's a schedule everyone follows. And Armin insists we have roommate bonding activities every week. Arts and crafts, or helping Sasha garden."

Fascinating. "What's the point of those?"

"I think to keep positive vibes in the house," Eren answers. "And keep them so that we can spread it around the neighborhood? Mikasa's idea. I don't know. I mean..." He pauses.  "Yeah, it's definitely not for everyone. But I don't mind it."

Hm. He's got that right. I'm all for camaraderie with the neighbors but... they all just sound and come off as fucking pretentious.

"So I've got another question for you," Eren says and turns around to look at me.

"Shoot."

He gives a sidelong glance to my house. "Well, I was hoping I'd finish by tomorrow, but I don't think that's gonna be possible. Can I come by on Saturday to finish the job?"

I nod. "Sure. But after twelve. I have..." _A shrink appointment._ "A morning errand to run."

"Cool," he answers. "And, um. I know it's my job to finish this, but... You wanna help me paint tomorrow?"

I give him a look.

"You don't have to. I just figured it'd be cool for you to paint part of your own house. Like... being included in the process? It'll be fun. Kinda therapeutic."

"Well..."

"Hey," he cuts in. "It'd be better than work... right?"

Ha. This fucking kid. _Eren_.

"Yeah," I say. "Guess you're right about that."  
  


* * *

  
It's Friday afternoon. Eren tells me to head outside in the latter part of the day, and with clothes I wouldn't mind getting dirtied. Hard request to ask of me but I manage to find an old Rose College shirt in my closet, and some jeans ripped at the knees that I forgot to throw out. Everything fits loose on me. Interesting. When I went through rehab, I gained a bit of weight, but I guess I'm back down to a smaller size again, after all these years. Not sure how to feel about that.

I walk out a couple minutes after 2 PM, telling Hanji on GChat that I'm done with my work for the weekend. She doesn't respond, I didn't expect her to. From all our correspondence this week, I can tell she's stressed about booking whatever band she wants to sign to the agency. That, and her Moblit drama. She definitely won't be asking me to have a drink later tonight.

Anyway. Eren's shirtless again.

He's on my porch, wearing converse and black jeans, standing atop a plastic tarp I assume _he_ set down all across the floor. I'm not only impressed by his physique, but also on how well put together this entire set-up looks. He's got two buckets of olive green paint open already, and he's set a handful of paint brushes - large ones and rollers - on my porch banister.

Eren is hunched over the brushes when I clear my throat and announce my arrival. He turns and regards me with a chin tilt. "Hey! I was just about to call you outside. You ready? I thought we could start on the porch since it'd be the hardest part to do."

"Yeah? Didn't wanna do the hard part alone?"

"Hey, I could have done it myself. Told you, remember?" he jokes.

I'm not sure if this is flirting again.

Regardless, I move by his side and reach for a roller but he stops me.

"Use a brush. Your porch is enclosed, so... I don't think rollers would help here."

I grab a brush and he points to a spot in the corner where I should start, on the other side of my front door. I look over and he's on the opposite side. I wait until I see him dip his brush in his paint can before I do it myself with my own bucket.

The green gook inside looks too dark to my liking. Too late to complain about the color, though. Some of the paint drips off the brush and back into the bucket. I stare at the droplets until they stop running, quietly sigh, and raise the brush against the white wall. One bold, vertical line of green among the white space. Once it's actually on the exterior, the shade of green looks brighter. Vivid. Not bad.

"Hey, is it okay if I put on some music?"

"Go ahead," I say. I glance over and see Eren retrieving his phone from his pocket. He's already got a splotch of green paint on his left bicep. I try not to stare and paint another line down the wall.

A minute later, music starts blaring from his phone. A guy crooning lyrics about _give me things that I wanted to know. Tell me things that you've done_. When the song picks up, Eren starts moving his hips in place and mouths along with the singer's _oooh_ 's. His paint strokes match his movements. I bet he's missing spots left and right. But all I can stare at are his hip bones, the gentle gliding of his waist, imagining my fingers hooking over his belt from behind and biting his shoulder....

Fuck, what is Eren doing to me?

"Are you okay with Flume?" he asks all of a sudden.

"I'm sorry?"

"Flume? The song? You look angry or something," he says. I start painting again, quickly, like another green line would help mask my secret Eren-fantasizing moments ago.

"Yeah. It's fine," I answer. The song continues and we paint in silence for the next couple minutes.

I expect to hear another song start up when it ends. Instead, Eren clears his throat and calls my name.

"Wanna pick a song next?"

I shift my eyes back to the wall, and he presses. "Actually, yeah," Eren says. "Pick one. Here."

He throws his phone - _he throws his fucking phone_ \- at me, despite that I've only got one free hand right now. I barely manage to catch it, and I'm sure the fear of nearly having to replace someone's fucking iPhone is plastered across my face because he laughs.

"Since you're probably super hip to music because of your job and all. Just pick something." He turns back to painting, and I see another splash of green on his arm. Figures.

The truth is, it's Hanji that's in the know with trends and shit, and Erwin, too. I could really give a fuck. I've got no one I want to impress with my taste in things. Well, I've _had_ no one to impress, though that implies I want to impress Eren right now. That's half-true. My favorite band is the Smashing Pumpkins, just their albums in the 90s. I doubt Eren would find that _cool_.

Fuck, what am I supposed to pick?

I look up at him and he's still casually painting, a lazy smile on his face. I look down at his phone and wrack my brain for a band name that's popped up in the past few years. Fuck. _Shit_.

Hanji's always wanting me to listen and watch shit with her, too. Think, old man. What are you going to play?

After a minute, I can only think of one band that she's tried introducing me to recently, and I remember thinking they sounded all right, the suggestion catering to my taste. I type in the name on Eren's Spotify app, click their most popular song. I hate myself for caring, but being put on the spotlight like this, and the way I've caught him silently singing along to music makes me think music is important to him.

Is this going to make or break our... what? Acquaintanceship? How fucking bizarre.

The song starts to play, synths first. I place the phone down on the tarp-covered floor and play off my nervousness by focusing on painting again.

Twenty seconds in, and Eren speaks. "Hey... I know this song."

I give him a glance but no response. Not sure if his reaction is good or bad yet.

When the singer starts, Eren talks again. "Levi, I fucking _love_ this song."

I look down immediately and stifle the triumphant smile threatening to expose itself on my face. It takes me a moment before I can even utter a "good" over to Eren.

"Seriously," he continues. "You've got good taste, I'm so happy about that."

Relief washes over me. I don't even know what to say to him. I don't even know what to tell _myself_. Hearing him praise me is doing weird things to my chest, face, belly. Brain.

It's then that Eren's voice nearly makes me jump out of my skin.

"As it _breeeaaaks_ ," he carelessly sings. " _The summer will wake. But the winter will waaaash what's left, of the taste._ "

I _know_ I look petrified. There's nothing I can do about that. I stand there, frozen, paintbrush in my hand, staring at his unabashed outburst. But Eren turns to me, bobbing his head and tapping his foot. Like this is what he just _does_ , bursting into song and scaring the living shit out of people.

" _As it breeeeaaaks_ ," he repeats. His voice isn't bad, but it's not like he's trying. His voice is higher than the lead singer's anyway, less raspy. " _The summer will warm. But the winter will craaave what is gone_."

"Eren," I try and interrupt.

He raises his hand to stop me and continues. " _Will craaaave what has all... gone away_. I told you, I love this song."

I don't know how to respond, honestly. I choose a random song in hopes that he doesn't judge me, shun me, think I'm an old fart for my lack of taste, and he does... _this_.

Eren laughs and takes my stunned silence for what it is. "I'm sorry. It's just so catchy. I'll stop singing though, don't worry. You won't have to suffer through it." He turns back to the panels in front of him, and paints the olive-green color up and down in silence. But he's still dancing, tapping his foot on my porch. From my peripheral vision, I can still see him mouthing the words. After a minute or two, he moves further from me to work on my porch's column, and he's still shimmying, not even trying to be discreet.

I break at that moment. Fall apart. I laugh, hard, and I don't even care what he thinks about it.

"Are you laughing at me?" he asks.

"You're hilarious," I answer frankly.

"Yeah? Thanks. I'll be here all day."

He picks up his phone when the song finishes, and shakes his head with a grin. "Let's just listen to the entire album. I can't believe you like Future Islands. Wow."

"Why wouldn't I?" I respond obnoxiously. Because really, I only know _that_ song. He doesn't have to know that anytime soon, though. But he makes us listen to the album. It's my first time, and I try hiding my genuine reactions. I'm not sure if the music is naturally good, or if it's because I get to listen to it with the visuals of Eren bobbing his head to it, but I like it. I like it all. I need to pick a copy of the album myself, now. Maybe go to a show when they're in town.

Maybe invite Eren, too.  
  


* * *

  
We only get the porch done that afternoon. It's funny; I back away and spot the differences between our walls instantly. I can see where Eren's paint strokes begin and end, messy doublecoats that are obvious even from afar. My side is pristine. And I'm supposed to be the least experienced in this kind of shit.

Eren, who's standing next to me and also observing our work, notices his messy painting too. He parts his mouth, looks at me, worriedly, and is about to say something. "I..."

"Good work," I interrupt. His eyes flicker, look of shock on his face. My own eyes flick down to his chest and at the spatters of green on his tan skin. "One side of the house down. Right?"

Eren hesitates, looks back at the porch, and then slowly nods. "Yeah. One side down."

I can't stop staring at his body, not that this is a new development or anything. Gotta play it off somehow. "You uh... You think that paint will wash off?"

He looks down at himself and chuckles. "I don't know. We'll see."

It's time for the stupid part of my days lately. Saying bye. Some sick part of me thinks he hates doing this too, because it's awkward, every fucking time. He scratches his ear, I shove my hands in my pockets. No one talks. We just idly stand there, staring at our feet.

"Tomorrow?" he breathes.

"Yeah. Tomorrow."

"Cool. Um... Can I leave all this stuff here for now?"

It's a fucking mess, but. "Sure."

"Great. I'll clean up when I finish tomorrow." He takes one tentative step toward my gate. "Yeah? That's fine?" More steps as he backs away from me. I watch him go. "I promise it'll all be done tomorrow, Levi. So I'll see you."

"Take your time," I answer.

The gate rattles when he opens it. He leaves, empty-handed, shirtless. Messy. Promises to leave by tomorrow.

"Take your time," I mutter again. He's down the block by now.

My chest hurts and I can feel the pain all the way down to my groin. I don't know why. It's like a movie or something. Faces and things are reeling around in my head like a game show wheel. Green paint, my parents. Xanax bars, Farlan. Eren, and Petra and my first therapist in Sina. Eren. Eren, _Eren_.

This probably isn't good. Fuck. Feelings are oscillating between hair-tugging embarrassment and necessary alcoholism.

I don't like having crushes because of this. Even the word is stupid. _Crush_. Eren fascinates me. That's it.

...

Take your time with the job, Eren. I like looking at you.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's on your mind, Levi?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel bad because I made you guys wait forever for such a sub-par chapter. But the good news is that I'm finally at the half-way point (to what I had planned/plotted thus far, NOT the end), and I'm about to dive in to my favorite parts of this story ha HA HA I keep teasing about the other characters but I swear. We're getting there. and then the wheels will pick up.
> 
> until then, this. (a past relationship is mentioned BRIEFLY, i'm sorry, cross that out in ereri bingo...)

"You seem... off today, Levi."

My chin is resting on the palm of my right hand and I don't bother moving from the position, giving Christa a half-shrug with no words. I should look fine. Lazy, comfortable. Melting into her office couch, even. I highly doubt she's noticed my stolen glances at the clock every couple of minutes. She may be a shrink, but she can't be that observant. I'm timing my looks well, at least. 39 minutes to go.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," I answer this time.

"How much sleep did you get last night?"

Well, I went to bed at midnight. Sleep had come at 2, and I meant to sleep in until 8 - except I had another sex dream about Eren in the morning. This time, we were outside my front lawn. But my front lawn had morphed into a white canvas, and we were both lathered in green paint... Eren slipping underneath me. And nameless faces were passing by the sidewalk as we fucked.

I kept trying to pull Eren closer to me, my hands gripped his shoulders as I fucked him harder, but when someone on the sidewalk would stop to stare, I'd freeze, look past my front gate, movements halted. Eren would pull my face back to look at his, wetting both my cheeks with the paint on his hands. Cold and disgusting.

Eren's face had pleaded with mine. His mouth opened and found its way closer to my ear. "Keep going, Levi. Please. Keep going."

His voice was shaking.

So of course I masturbated when I woke up. But I got four hours, barely. I don't share any of this with Christa.

I hear her sigh, and I look over to see her staring at her knees. She's frustrated with me. Good.

" _Ookay_ ," she answers, emphasizing the word. "You don't want to talk today. That's fine."

"Don't have anything to talk about," I say. I glance at the clock.

"What are you doing after our session?"

Another shrug. "Nothing. Head back home, grab some lunch."

"Reservations somewhere?"

The question confuses me. "No."

"From the way you've been staring at the clock, it seems like whatever lunch this is, is important."

_Absolute bulllshit_. I keep my cool, keep my composure. Feign some more apathy.

"Don't get me wrong," she continues. "I know these sessions aren't exactly what you look forward to out of your weekends. But you've been checking the time every minute since you've arrived. I figured I'd ask you."

"I shouldn't be here," I say out of defense. Push and pull with us. I get to her, she gets to me. "We meet every two weeks, and somehow I get an email asking to come in on our off week. Think I have the right to be pissed about it."

"I know," she assures me. "I know you're upset that we're meeting this week, but by any chance, do you know why that is?"

"The fucking Amazon."

"Excuse me?"

I sigh and shift on the couch, crossing my legs and continuing to avert Christa's stupidly blue eyes. "Hanji. Hanji called you. Or e-mailed you, or whatever the hell she did out of spite-"

"No," Christa interrupts with a shake of her head, ponytail swaying along with it. "Not out of spite, Levi. Hanji is your best friend, she has a right to be concerned. It shows she cares about you."

I'm so fucking over this. I glance at the clock. 35 minutes. That's a lot of time left before I get to go home and relax, to watch my house getting painted. To see _Eren_.

"What's on your mind, Levi?" Christa asks, hands tightly laced together in her lap. "I'd really appreciate if you could humor me. Why was Hanji so concerned?"

When I answer her with silence and a flicked glance back at her clock, she clears her throat and her tone suddenly changes. More authoritative. One of her new tricks. "Levi. If you humor me.... Just a _little_ bit, I promise time will go by quicker. Talk to me. Please. You're stuck here and giving me a check for $140 at the end of the session regardless, so you might as well talk. Okay?"

I can't help rolling my eyes. All right, fine.

I exhale and look her in the eyes for a split-second before focusing on the wall behind her, trying to come up with the right words to say, to admit I've only had one thing on my mind since I've got here. Maybe earlier than that.

Christa waits. I lean forward, hands on my knees. I lick my lips before talking. "Do you remember Laurel?"

"Laurel?" she repeats, and then tilts her head. "The name sounds familiar."

Means I have to refresh her memory. I lean back on the couch and try to relax. "Almost half a year ago. Laurel. 22 years old. She attended the University."

Recognition lights up her face and she nods. "Oh, right. Yeah, I do. Why? Did you run into her?"

"No," I say. "But do you remember why we stopped dating?"

Christa politely laughs at my question. "If I remember correctly, you said you were _over her_ the day you had to pick her up after class. You said you felt like a father. Right?"

"That was a good call, you think? She was nice. Ambitious. Didn't care that I was shorter than her. But it would have never worked. You know, the age gap and shit."

Christa doesn't respond. I give her a look and she straightens up. "Well, Levi. I can't tell the future. But if she made you uncomfortable - if anything about the relationship made you uncomfortable, then I would have to say, yeah. It was a good call. It must have been because... this is the first time I actually hear you expressing regret over her-"

"Do you remember my therapist? _The_ therapist." I wave a hand dismissively. "The one I fell in love with."

Christa laughs about that one. " _Oh_ yeah. But why? I'm - Sorry. I'm just trying to follow your train of thought right now and it's a little hard..."

I ignore her. I'm finally getting into the meat of whatever's plaguing my mind. I don't even know where to begin, don't know where I've suddenly got the urge to spill everything to someone I dislike, more often than not. But it's happening, and I let my mouth move. "Took me a while to get over her, you remember? You and your mentor told me I attached myself too easily. I was heartbroken. And then somehow, there's a girl like Laurel in my life that I can barely recall, save for her age. So what's the difference?"

Christa's mouth parts but I barrel through.

"And then there's Petra."

" _Levi_."

"I loved her. Sure. But I never chased her when she left."

"I need to stop you right there, Levi, because you were also taking a _ton_ of prescription pills back then. She left because you were practically comatose," Christa reminds me. "So I don't know if she would have left you if you were sober, or how you would have reacted to her leaving if you weren't spending your days back then... well, you know."

Jesus, fuck off, Christa. I know my own fucking life.

I stay seething at her comment for several moments, and it gives her time to try and follow my words. She scoots her chair closer to the couch, it barely moves. "So. Exes. Attachment and regret? What's got you thinking about this, Levi? Is this why Hanji emailed me?"

I clench my jaw. "No," I say, and I want to get a rise out of her for making me feel guilty about Petra. Even if I'm the one that brought her up. "I want to fuck my handyman."

"What?"

"I hired someone this week to start working on my house. I'm getting it painted. And Jesus. I wanna -"

"Sleep with him?"

"Yeah."

Christa hesitates. "Is he interested?"

I glance at the clock. "I can get him interested, I think. If he isn't already." I sigh. Here we go. "His name is Eren and he's... walking pornography. Half the time, he's got his shirt off. Sometimes he's flirtatious, other times he's naive as all shit. And it's so fucking attractive." I can feel myself getting flustered with the way I sound. Lovesick. Lovestruck. How Hanji had sounded with her _Moblit_.

"It's pissing me off," I finish. I've already confessed too much.

Christa leans back into her chair, connecting the dots. "Are you... meeting him after this? Is this why you're so... flighty right now? Staring at the clock and all that?"

I give her a pointed look, and she acts like she can't tell I'm annoyed. "So you're infatuated with someone. That's fine."

"I wouldn't use that word."

"You like him."

"I want to fu-"

" _You._ Like. Him," Christa says with a tilt of her head. And she smiles. I want to kick every potted plant in her office and out in the waiting room as well. "It happens, Levi. People get under our skin, and we like that. So if he's interested... Go ahead. Why not?"

"Because he's twelve years younger than me," I say through gritted teeth. "I'd feel like a predator."

"Twelve years? Okay, well. He's young. Sure. But there's absolutely no reason to feel like a _predator_ ," Christa states with a low chuckle at the end. "Levi, you are..."

"What?"

She sighs wistfully. "Nothing."

I rub my face with both hands, close my eyes, fingers grazing my eyelids as I try and regroup. Christa doesn't understand. No one _ever_ understands and sure, it's probably all to do with me and my shitty ways of communicating my feelings to other people, but I get so fucking tired trying to convey the message.

It's not a big deal, but it feels like it is. This feels different, like my life is on the brink of desperate change, a protagonist starting his coming-of-age story, except I'm fucking 32 years old, and any life-altering experiences have already come and gone. Jesus. All this over a fucking chiseled college kid - _does Eren even go to school?_ I know nothing about him and I'm still obsessed. What a pile of shit.

How does this happen? I want a rational explanation.

I try again. "It's not that," I start, eyes darting to the floor occasionally. "I'm not into people that much younger than me. Like Laurel. That's proof enough. Right?"

Christa slowly nods. I continue.

"So I thought 'Look, don't touch.' Figuring it wouldn't be a problem. Like I said, I have a history of... detaching myself easily from others." I pause. Dramatic effect. "But it's different this time. And I don't know why."

Christa stares at me, folds her hands on her lap. "Are you finished?"

"I guess."

Christa looks at the clock. I bet she regrets asking me to open up. "Levi. This all just sounds like you have a genuine crush on someone. Before - _Before_ you interrupt or dismiss what I'm about to say completely...."

I figuratively bite my tongue and let her speak.

"Yes, all people affect us differently. Yes, Laurel. Yes, your therapist. Yes, Petra, and this.... handyman, too. Comparing how you feel today, about him, with anyone else doesn't make sense. Of course it's different."

She pauses. "Personally, I've always found that my best relationships are the ones that form from nowhere. That take you by surprise." Christa smiles and softly giggles.

"You thinking of someone specific?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"I think... you're over-thinking this too much, Levi. I don't know this guy. Maybe you like him, maybe you just can't stand the fact that he's forbidden in your eyes. You're either going to sleep with him or you won't. I don't think this is something so... gargantuan of a crisis for Hanji to call-"

I roll my eyes. "She was pissed I ditched her for him."

Christa frowns. "Right. Well, if you sleep with him, let me know."

"What, are we gossipy sleepover friends now?"

"Sixth person in five months," she airily says. "No judgment, but remember what I -"

"Christ," I interrupt. "This is a fucking handful..."

Christa shrugs. "At least you chipped off fifteen more minutes of time."  
  


* * *

  
It takes me the entire walk back to my car to realize Christa was implying that I was being a melodramatic jackass. Dead halt right by the car door. I look back to the square building with a squint, fight the urge to flick it off with both hands. Christa's a fucking dick sometimes.

But it's not worth it. I rev out of there - as fast as my Prius can take me anyway, skip the usual routine of taking the scenic route in favor of the practical one, the one that will get me home the fastest.

But I forget nothing works out in my favor, ever. The freeway is packed like a Monday morning commute, and I'm gridlocked in the middle of Trost for twenty fucking minutes because no one knows how to drive in this city. And I get even more pissed when I remember I don't have Eren's phone number to warn him. Getting his number hasn't even crossed my mind until now. He could have kept me company on the phone. Erwin is working (on a Saturday, _shit_ ), and Hanji's passive-aggressive status on Facebook this morning was a warning to steer clear of her until tomorrow. I only have the radio now, and I turn to the alternative station. Need something to match my current mood.

I'm half-an-hour late, so I don't even bother with meticulously parking my car. I haphazardly find a spot across my house. Not in red, not blocking a driveway. I'm good.

Jesus, who am I right now? I at least dust off my blazer, consider keeping my RayBans on but figured Eren would think I looked like a jackass. Check myself in the rear view mirror. As good as I'll get. I step out and glance over to my yard and find Eren Jaeger sitting on my porch. The paint tools are set up, and have been since yesterday evening.

As I get closer, I take him all in; Eren's wearing a loose red shirt with a faded number 11 in the center, eating a sandwich wrap in his left hand, eyes locked to his phone's screen in his right. I check Kirstein's yard before I open my gate and find him lounging, but he doesn't see me. His face is tilted up to the sky, sunglasses on. Maybe he's napping.

Eren looks up when I close my gate. "Sorry," I call out. "Traffic out in Trost, you can't fucking imagine."

Eren grins, _fuck,_ there it is. Wipes his lips with the back of a hand, and I can see him swallow the bite of his lunch from the way his Adam's apple moves. "Don't worry about it. You warned me yesterday you were going to be out, I completely forgot."

I've reached the front steps now, where he's casually sitting. He stands up, several inches higher than me since he's on the step above me.

"That's a nice blazer," he says. I almost take it as a compliment, a sign that he's interested - Christa's words echo in my head - but he adds something else. "So you're not gonna help me paint today, or...? Ha. Don't wanna ruin it, you know?"

Right. I rub the back of my neck. "Yeah. Sorry, I'll uh. Go get changed."

I move past him but he tells me to wait.

"Yeah?"

"Sorry, um..." Eren's phone is still in his hands and he extends it over to me. I think this is my chance.

"Oh," I utter, a little dumbfounded. Didn't think it'd be this easy. "Yeah, I'll -"

I look down at the screen. It's a photo, mainly of a guy's head, leopard-print pattern buzzed into his already short hair. It takes me a couple seconds to realize it's Connie, eyes tilted to the camera. Stupid smile with a thumbs up accompanying it. What the fuck.

"You said you were close with him and Sasha, right?" Eren asks. "They sent this to me this morning, probably got it done last night or something. I mean... I know they're outgoing, but _man_ , this is... I didn't think he'd do something crazy like that to his head."

And I'm here wondering why I thought he was asking me for my number. I recover fast. "This doesn't surprise me," I respond, and take a closer look. One of his art friends must have done it, who knows. Sasha's only an expert when it came to food. "I'm expecting Sasha to come back with a new tattoo."

"Oh, really?" Eren's eyes widen like he hadn't thought of that. "I'll ask her right now." He takes a bite of his wrap, retracts his phone from my gaze and starts texting with one hand.

I take the cue to enter the house, pretend that other moment didn't happen.  
  


* * *

  
There are specific days when a person gets up with good intentions, ready to tackle whatever bullshit they've procrastinated. Or been too afraid to do. Too intimidated. You pump yourself up, flex your mind, yeah, you'll get to it. You'll finally get to it.

Even worse is when you can _feel_ your life's momentum surging forward, tension growing thick, thicker. Like puzzles pieces falling into place, excuse the cliche. Things are going to change, things will get done because all the signs are pointing to success.

The point is, I don't get Eren's number. I don't get anything. He miraculously finishes the three remaining sides of my house by nightfall, working diligently. Shakes my hand enthusiastically when he's done. I pay him for his work. We both do the awkward dance of unresolved tension again until he gives up and walks away from me, and he gently closes my gate behind him. I watch him trek up the street's incline, up to Rose Garden to probably unwind with people he actually likes.

I take it all too personally. Obviously.

Maybe it's my fault that nothing happens. When I had come back out after changing to comfortable attire, we don't really talk. We get to work in silence, the only sounds accompanying us are the background noises of Stohess. Cars that drive through the street, a child's passing laughter. There's a soft thump every time Eren brings his paint roller up against my house, but that's it.

I thought I had a shot when I get a photo on Snapchat from Erwin, and I snort aloud, which makes Eren turn to look at me with curiosity. But I royally fuck it up.

Erwin had sent me a photo of his dick. Not his actual dick, fuck, I think I would have retched - but a photo of the cock sock he was meant to wear for work, finally answering my question about him having sex scenes in the new show he's filming. Of course I couldn't hold it in. Eren had asked what I'd found funny, and I replayed the snap for him, thinking in the back of my mind that he might offer his own username to add. Missed opportunity.

What's worse is that Hanji texts me while I'm replaying Erwin's snap for Eren, and the preview flashes on the top of my phone's screen: _Did you get Erwin's photo? OMG..._

Which might have been fine but a couple seconds later, I get another text:

_Talk to me about it when you're done with your hot new boyf_...

I cough, pull back my phone and Eren had smiled, said the cock sock was something surreal to see.

I think he was just being polite.

I don't get his username.

It's about 9 PM when Eren had left, and I'm so discouraged, I actually considered inviting Kirstein out for a drink at Ymir's. Thought better of it, though. I end up having three beers by myself at home, ease myself into sleep because I knew I would have needed it. Doesn't work out. Running on four hours of sleep but I still end up crashing at 3 AM, wake up at 8. Too unmotivated to jack off. I keep thinking about a potential crush leaving my life so anticlimactically. It's so boring, it's making my sadness irrelevant.

So it numbs to a half-hearted apathy that follows me the next day, all the way to Trost, to Hanji's condo, where it takes me fifteen fucking minutes to find a parking spot that isn't reserved for _residents with permits_. Trost is a fucking nightmare.

I trudge myself up the stairs to her front door, knock once, twice, before Hanji pulls open the varnished wooden door and smiles at me, a bottle of brown liquor in her hand.

"Whoa, why do you look like shit? How much sleep did you get last night?"

"What is that?" I counter back, pointing at the bottle in her hand.

"Oh," she says, mischievous glint to her eyes. "It's a _celebration_ today. Did you sleep with your gardener or whatever?"

I sigh. She moves aside and lets me in.

I see Erwin on her couch, an old-fashioned in his hand. Mike's got a beer, and the guy next to him...

"Oh yeah," Hanji says from behind me as she pushes past. "Levi... This is Moblit."

The incredulous look Erwin is shooting at me doesn't go unnoticed.

Hm. Interesting.  
  


* * *

  
It's not as interesting as I expected.

Moblit Berner, young-looking brunette with bigger bags under his eyes than me. We learn he's four years younger than Hanji, way to go there, woman. Works as a veterinarian, something I would _never_ have expected from her. He's quiet for the most part, only talks to us when we ask him a question. Doesn't take any of the aged bourbon that Hanji had purchased for the evening. But Hanji inviting him on our day is a start, at least. I act as friendly as I can.

Hanji had bought the bottle to celebrate Erwin's first week at his new set, as well as her signing a new band to our agency, finally. She jokes and adds in my successful conquest of fucking Eren Jaeger to her toast, and that's when I have to look at my boots and say it didn't happen. Hanji lightly groans but she doesn't notice how defeated I sound. I didn't expect her to. It's rare for me to lament a failed connection, like I had told Christa.

After my second round of bourbon, I move myself outside, on Hanji's balcony. She's got a view, I have to admit. Only two floors up but her condo is located in a busy street. I peer over the edge and watch Trost heads milling about on the sidewalk. Meanwhile the palm tree leaves are shivering from the light ocean breeze. Weather's nice. Traffic isn't so bad to clutter the noise with honks and screeching brakes.

"What do you think?" Erwin's voice penetrates the calm. He doesn't take me by surprise.

"He's all right," I answer, only half-turning myself to regard him, and knowing exactly what Erwin is referring to. "Definitely not what I expected. But I always thought Hanji the type to never settle."

"Same," he says, taking a couple steps further outside. "A little reserved, don't you think?"

I nod. "That's what I thought, too. But I don't hate him," I add.

Erwin makes an agreeable noise and we stay quiet, admiring the view. Comfortable silence. It lasts for only two minutes before I hear approaching footsteps by the balcony's sliding glass door.

"Moblit and Mike are in some intense discussion about fantasy football," Hanji announces. Pretty soon she sidles up next to me, and I'm casually sandwiched between them.

"Are you going to tell me what you think now, or...?"

"Do you even care?" Erwin asks. I look over to her, and she smiles.

"No. Don't think I do!" she exclaims. Erwin laughs, I hide my laughter with the empty glass in my hand.

"Need another refill, Levi?"

I snort. "Yeah, right. This is my second drink. You're not keeping count?"

I drink a fair amount of beer, yes, but the liquor is _always_ reserved for special occasions for me. I only get drunk a couple times per year, and that's only with Hanji's personal supervision.

I get weird when I'm drunk.

Regardless, she sighs. "I know. But it's fine... I'm here, we're here. Relaxing. Have another drink. Erwin, go refill his glass, yeah?"

Erwin silently nods and we watch him as he takes the glass from my hand and leaves the balcony.

"Unless you're going to get strange on us, or start drunk-texting someone you know," Hanji comments as he walks off. "Pretty boy gardeners, and all."

"Don't have his number," I grunt. Hanji's jaw drops.

"Are you losing your touch, Levi? Jeeze, not even a number? What - "

"I don't want to talk about it," I automatically say, wishing for the third drink _now_. It's the wrong response too, and I know this as it leaves my mouth. Hanji's a smart woman. She'll start putting two and two together now.

" _Whoa_ , too sensitive there, Levi! Calm down. Someone's gonna start thinking you actually liked him."

"No," I say, trying to save face. "I didn't fuck him, he painted my house. That's it. Get off my back. Or try again after my fourth drink."

"I might just have to," she slyly comments. I try not to react.

"Well, I need you to do me a favor, Levi," she says after a while. Can't say I didn't see this coming. I briefly wonder if I can pretend I didn't hear, but she pushes forward. "We signed that band, right?"

"Yeah. So, sending out a press release?"

"More than that," she responds, and takes a sip from her glass. "The band's called W∆RRiORS. Three members. Witch house group. So - "

"What the fuck is witch house?"

Hanji has the audacity to roll her eyes at me like asking that question is sinful in some way. "Levi, I don't have the patience nor the time to give you a music lesson, but it's really dark, droney music that - "

"Droney?"

"Levi! Listen! They're really good. But they're still _really_ underground. So part of the deal was to book them a show within the coming week. Still with me?"

She's using her work voice with me. On a Sunday. I bite back my smirk and nod.

"So, that's what I'm doing. I've been stressed all week trying to secure a venue, I mean - I called up Jay from the House of Blues? Wouldn't even consider it, said a band like them wouldn't fill up half the space that the HOB can offer, I mean, who the hell introduced Jay to Kings of Leon back when they were still nobodies - "

"You're name-dropping, Hanji. Get on with it."

" _Right_. So... Can Ymir do it?"

"You have her number," I offer. "I don't see why she'd say no."

"Yeah, well, I'm getting a push back from her," Hanji says. Footsteps sound off behind us, and my glass is promptly placed in my hand again. I give a nod in Erwin's direction. Hanji continues. "She keeps saying it's last minute - "

"It is," I have to point out.

"Oh, the band problem?" Erwin asks.

"It _is_ ," Hanji admits. "But Ymir's a friend, her bar is small... She's got a stage, and she can accommodate a small crowd. Especially if she makes the night 18 and over."

"She's not going to like that," I say.

"Then it's a two-drink minimum for everyone underage. I _need_ this. She said she'll think about it. I need you to talk to her tomorrow, in person, make her see it our way. I can't lose this band."

"Twenty bucks says they're a sub-par music group," I say out of spite, bringing the glass to my lips.

"You'd win that bet," Erwin suggests. "She played me a song before you got here. They sound like a funeral procession."

"I'm sorry that your taste in what's good is lacking," Hanji bites back. Erwin and I laugh.

"Should we save Mike from his conversation now?" I dryly ask. Erwin shakes his head.

"Don't worry about them. They're discussing BBC shows now," he says, and I roll my eyes. A bunch of losers, I swear. "You know how to pick them, Hanji."

"Well, I knew _Mike_ would like him," Hanji absently notes. Then there's silence, Hanji leans against the banister, I can see Erwin drinking from his glass. I'm oddly comforted by this. These moments where we're together, fuck, I sound sentimental. I look down at my own drink, swirl the liquid around. Brown, tan liquid, goes down smooth. Gets me buzzed. Gets me electric.

I don't know why, but it reminds me of him.

You know.

The crush.

"What's on your mind, Levi?" Erwin asks.

I pause. "Not much," I say, tip the glass against my lips, and I swallow.


End file.
